KINSMAN 


MRS.ALFRED  SIDGWICK 


THE  KINSMAN 


Alfcms 


THE    KINSMAN 


BY 


MRS.   ALFRED    SIDGWICK 

AUTHOR   OF  "THE  BERYL   STONES,"  "CYNTHIA'S 
WAY,"  ETC. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON :  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 

1907 
All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1906, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  February,  1907. 


NorfaooU  $rta« 

J.  8.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.8.A. 


THE  KINSMAN 


2  THE  KINSMAN 

"How  do  you  spell  it?" 

Mr.  Gammage  wrote  the  name  on  a  slip  of  paper 
and  handed  it  to  his  friend. 

"That's  French,"  said  Mr.  Salter.  "You  ought 
to  call  it  Blwor." 

"Wrong  again/'  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "it  ain't 
French,  and  you  don't  call  it  Blwor.  Think  my 
mother  didn't  know?" 

"Never  having  had  the  pleasure  of  your  moth- 
er's acquaintance,  I  can't  say,"  replied  Mr.  Salter, 
"but  French  is  French.  At  least  so  I  was  brought 
up  to  believe." 

The  sudden  return  of  the  head  clerk  put  a  stop 
to  the  discussion,  and  soon  after  an  interrup- 
tion to  work  was  caused  by  the  chief  himself,  who 
came  into  the  outer  office  to  ask  Mr.  Gammage 
where  he  had  been  at  school.  It  seemed  that 
Mr.  Gammage  thought  three  dozen  pairs  of  gloves 
at  one  and  eleven  the  pair  should  be  charged 
£2  16s.  lid.,  and  that  he  had  recorded  his  opinion 
on  an  invoice. 

"There  certainly  seems  to  be  a  slight  mistake, 
sir,"  he  said,  after  he  had  stared  at  the  figures 
for  some  time.  "I  wonder  how  I  arrived  at  it." 

Mr.  Angelo,  a  shrewd,  irascible  little  man,  with 
foreign  blood  in  his  veins  and  fluent  Cockney 


THE  KINSMAN  3 

English  on  his  lips,  said  he  could  give  a  guess. 
He  had  a  sheaf  of  invoices  in  his  hands  and  he 
threw  them  on  Mr.  Gammage's  desk  as  he  went 
away  again. 

"  Wanted  to  pitch  'em  at  your  head,  but  too 
much  the  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Salter,  interpreting 
his  employer's  feelings  with  his  usual  acumen. 

"I  hate  arithmetic,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  pleas- 
antly, "I  never  had  any  turn  for  it." 

"Then  why  are  you  here?"  said  Mr.  Jackson, 
the  head  clerk. 

"Same  reason  as  you,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage.  "You  don't  come  to  enjoy  yourself,  do 
you?" 

"I  get  through  my  work,"  said  the  head  clerk. 

"So'll  I  —  in  time,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  watch- 
ing a  sparrow  fight  on  an  adjacent  roof. 

For  another  hour  the  three  men  worked  steadily. 
At  least  Mr.  Salter  and  Mr.  Jackson  did.  Mr.  Gam- 
mage, who  had  been  to  bed  late,  yawned  a  good 
deal,  found  his  nails  needed  trimming,  hunted 
through  his  desk  for  a  penknife  that  was  not  there, 
looked  at  his  watch  repeatedly  because  the  time 
passed  so  slowly,  and  rose  from  his  chair  the  mo- 
ment the  clock  struck  one. 

"Those  invoices  ready?"    said  the  head  clerk. 


4  THE  KINSMAN 

"Not  yet/'  said  Mr.  Gammage,  putting  on  his 
hat. 

"Wish  it  was  dinner  hour  all  day,"  he  said  to 
Mr.  Salter  as  they  passed  into  the  street  together. 
"I  'ate  work,  and  I  don't  mind  who  knows  it." 

"That's  where  you  make  an  error,"  said  Mr. 
Salter,  sententiously.  "You  should  keep  the 
fact  from  Angelo  better  than  you've  done 
lately." 

"Looks  like  a  fine  Whitsuntide,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage,  sheering  off  from  an  unpleasant  sub- 
ject. 

"Well,  I  want  one.  I'm  going  home,  and  I 
mean  to  bike  it." 

"I'm  going  to  TrevaUa." 

"Want  your  motor  for  that  trip,"  said  Mr. 
Salter. 

They  had  reached  the  eating-house  they  pat- 
ronised, and  though  it  was  crowded  they  managed 
to  find  a  quiet  corner  and  to  catch  the  eye  of  their 
favourite  waitress.  They  ordered  steak  and  kid- 
ney pudding  for  two,  and  then  they  resumed  their 
conversation. 

"There's  an  excursion,  you  see,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage.  "But  it  doesn't  get  back  till  five 
o'clock  on  Wednesday  morning." 


THE  KINSMAN  5 

"Then  what's  the  good  of  it  to  you?" 

"I'm  going  to  ask  Angelo  for  the  extra  day. 
Think  he'll  mind?" 

Mr.  Salter  thought  Angelo  would  mind,  and 
that  he  would  not  hesitate  to  say  so. 

"It  isn't  as  if  you'd  made  yourself  over  and 
above  valuable,"  he  said,  trying  to  put  it  deli- 
cately. "Look  how  unpleasant  he  was  only  this 
morning  over  those  invoices." 

"It's nothing  new, ' ' said  Mr. Gammage ;  ' i there's 
no  pleasing  some  people." 

"Can't  you  keep  near  home?" 

"I've  got  an  invite  and  I  want  to  accept  it. 
Trevalla  is  where  my  grandfather  came  from,  and 
I've  always  thought  I'd  have  a  look  at  the  place." 

"Any  Blwors  left  there?"  said  Mr.  Salter; 
"is  the  invite  from  them?" 

"It  is  not,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "My  grand- 
father and  his  brother  went  to  Orstralia  simul- 
taneously about  fifty  years  ago,  and  they  were  the 
last  of  that  family.  It  was  a  caddit  branch." 

"A  what?"  said  Mr.  Salter,  turning  over  his 
steak  and  kidney  pudding. 

"A  caddit  branch.  My  great-grandfather  was  a 
younger  son.  He  had  no  money." 

"Same  trouble  with  mine,"   said  Mr.   Salter; 


6  THE  KINSMAN 

"but  didn't  your  mother  grow  up  at  Trevalla? 
I've  heard  the  Martins  talk  of  her." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Gammage;  "my  grandfather 
married  beneath  him." 

"Careless,"  said  Mr.  Salter;  "might  have  con- 
sidered you." 

"I  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "but  he  didn't. 
He  married  the  daughter  of  a  small  farmer,  the 
people  he  lodged  with,  in  fact." 

"Awful  come-down  for  a  Blwor,"  said  Mr. 
Salter,  who  was  the  son  of  a  small  farmer  himself. 

"Rather,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "but  that's 
how  it  is  my  mother  knew  the  Martins.  Some  of 
them  are  still  at  Trevalla,  and  it's  from  them  the 
invite  has  come.  They've  always  kept  up  with 
their  cousins  at  Barnes,  and  they  knew  I  was  liv- 
ing there  as  paying  guest." 

"And  was  courtin'  Miss  Florrie." 

"  They  wouldn't  be  likely  to  hear  that,  because 
the  fact  chiefly  exists  in  your  imagination." 

"Is  that  so?    Wish  I  had  your  looks,  Bert." 

"Much  good  they've  done  me  so  far,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage.  But  as  he  got  up  to  go  he  put  on  his 
hat  with  the  rakish  tilt  that  he  thought  became 
him,  while  a  slight  smile  relieved  the  gloom  of  his 
face.  He  was  a  tall,  well-made  young  man,  and 


THE  KINSMAN  7 

he  would  have  been  remarkably  good-looking 
if  there  had  been  a  more  intelligent  light  in  his 
eyes  and  lines  of  greater  firmness  about  his  mouth 
and  chin.  His  features  were  well  cut,  his  hair 
was  dark,  and  his  complexion  pale  and  clear.  He 
wore  the  newest  thing  the  city  showed  in  ties 
and  collars,  and  he  had  a  taste  for  perfumes.  On 
one  occasion  when  he  brought  out  his  handker- 
chief in  his  chief's  presence  that  brute  used  a  rude 
Saxon  word  and  said  he  didn't  want  a  civet-cat 
in  his  office.  This  was  one  of  many  little  offences 
that  rankled  in  Mr.  Gammage's  mind  when  he 
reflected  on  his  present  circumstances  and  wished 
he  could  alter  them. 

"Wonder  how  a  country  life  would  suit  me," 
he  said  to  his  friend,  as  they  went  slowly  back  to 
Wood  Street. 

"What's  your  idea  of  a  country  life?" 

"Dog-cart  .  .  .  full  of  little  packages.  Why 
shouldn't  I  travel  for  a  country  firm?" 

"It  wouldn't  suit  yours  truly.  The  country 
gives  me  the  hump.  I  like  civilisation  —  es- 
pecially at  night.  .  .  .  Putney  Hill  and  gas 
lamps." 

"I  want  a  change,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "Won- 
der how  I'd  like  the  sea  ...  or  the  stage  .  .  . 


8  THE  KINSMAN 

or  journalism.  Whenever  I  spend  a  halfpenny  on 
a  paper,  I  think  how  easy  it  must  be  to  write  it." 

"That  may  be  an  illusion,"  said  Mr.  Salter. 
"A  friend  of  mine  makes  a  bit  now  and  then  by 
writing  poetry,  but  he  says  there's  almost  more 
trouble  in  it  than  it's  worth." 

"  Perhaps  it  doesn't  come  natural  to  him," 
said  Mr.  Gammage.  "What  sort  of  poetry  does 
he  write?" 

"All  kinds.  Twice  it  was  hair  curlers  he  got 
paid  for.  Last  time  it  was  pills." 

"I  don't  suppose  there's  a  living  in  it,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage,  thoughtfully. 

The  afternoon  hours  dragged.  The  head  clerk 
and  Mr.  Salter  worked  steadily  enough,  but  Mr. 
Gammage  grew  more  and  more  drowsy.  At  last 
he  fell  fast  asleep,  his  head  on  his  arms.  A  sharp 
pinch  administered  with  the  best  intention  by 
Mr.  Salter  awoke  him  so  unpleasantly  that  he 
uttered  an  unseemly  yell  and  swept  his  inkstand 
on  to  the  office  floor.  The  crash  roused  him,  and  he 
became  aware  that  Mr.  Angelo  had  come  into 
the  outer  office  and  was  clamouring  for  invoices. 

"I  am  afraid  they  are  not  quite  ready,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Gammage.  He  always  addressed  Mr. 
Angelo  in  tones  of  dulcet  politeness.  He  saw  no 


THE  KINSMAN  9 

reason,  he  said,  for  behaving  in  an  ungentlemanly 
way  because  his  employer  was  no  gentleman. 
Unluckily,  Mr.  Angelo  had  a  peppery  temper,  and 
this  particular  mixture  of  incompetence  and 
finicking  civility  drove  him  into  a  fury.  When 
Mr.  Gammage  approached  with  his  pouncet-box, 
Mr.  Angelo  wanted  to  knock  it  out  of  his  new 
clerk's  hand  with  a  bludgeon. 

"Ready!"  he  shouted,  "your  jobs  never  are. 
Give  me  what  you've  done.  I  haven't  time  to 
go  to  sleep." 

Mr.  Gammage  unwillingly  gathered  together  a 
small  sheaf  of  papers  from  his  desk  and  handed 
them  to  his  employer.  Mr.  Angelo  went  back  to 
his  private  office  and  banged  the  door  after  him. 

"Like  you  see  a  tiger  go  off  with  a  bone,"  said 
Mr.  Gammage,  wearily.  "He'll  enjoy  himself 
now.  I've  felt  half  asleep  all  day.  Shouldn't 
wonder  if  there  were  a  few  mistakes.  Those 
beastly  farthings  get  me.  What  am  I  going  to 
mop  up  this  ink  with?  Lend  me  your  coat, 
Jimmy." 

Mr.  Salter  was  not  obliging  enough  to  do  that, 
but  he  found  some  old  blotting  paper  that  did 
equally  well.  Then  Mr.  Gammage  actually  worked 
for  nearly  twenty  minutes.  He  knew  that  he 


10  THE  KINSMAN 

had  better.  But  just  as  the  unwonted  strain 
began  to  tell  on  him  and  he  leaned  back  to  yawn, 
the  door  of  the  private  office  opened  again. 

"Yes,  I  want  you,"  said  Mr.  Angelo,  meeting 
the  young  man's  eye. 

" Directly,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  obligingly, 
and  went  into  the  private  office. 

Mr.  Angelo  was  sitting  at  his  writing  table,  and 
in  front  of  him  was  the  little  pile  of  invoices  that 
had  occupied  Mr.  Gammage  most  of  the  day. 
They  were  all  torn  neatly  in  half.  The  young 
man  observed  this  as  he  presented  the  new  ones. 

"Which  end  of  the  penholder  did  you  use  for 
these?"  inquired  Mr.  Angelo,  separating  half  a 
dozen  from  the  rest,  and  his  clerk  remembered 
that  he  had  filled  in  some  while  there  was  a  hair 
in  his  nib,  and  that  he  had  felt  too  languid  to  take 
it  out. 

"What  day  of  the  month  is  it?"  his  employer 
went  on,  asking  a  second  question  before  anyone 
could  answer  the  first,  which  was  just  one  of  his 
ungentlemanly  ways,  as  Mr.  Gammage  complained 
later.  "How  many  pence  are  there  in  a  hundred 
and  eight  farthings?  What  is  twelve  times  three 
and  six?  Take  the  whole  lot  back  and  do  them 
over  again." 


THE  KINSMAN  11 

"You  have  not  informed  me  what  is  wrong  yet, 
sir,"  objected  Mr.  Gammage. 

"  Inform  yourself.  Ask  the  errand  boy.  Ask 
the  shoeblack  at  the  end  of  the  street.  They'll 
tell  you  the  date,  anyhow.  They'd  show  you  how 
to  write  and  reckon,  if  you  were  capable  of  learn- 
ing; but  I  suppose  you're  not." 

"You  don't  require  all  these  done  over  again 
to-night,  I  suppose  ?"  said  the  injured  young  man. 

"Every  one  of  them." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  looking  at 
the  pile  of  papers  in  his  hand  instead  of  at  his 
chief's  face.  "I  shall  be  pleased  to  get  them 
right,  I'm  sure,  but  it  will  take  me  a  long  time. 
I  wanted  to  ask  you,  sir  — 

"How  to  speU  Marseilles?" 

"Could  I  have  an  extra  day  next  week,  sir, 
returning  on  Wednesday  instead  of  Tuesday  ?  I 
shall  be  working  overtime  to-night,  so  perhaps 
you  — 

Mr.  Angelo  looked  as  if  he  wanted  to  dance  and 
restrained  himself  by  main  force.  Then  he  opened 
a  drawer  and  shut  it  with  a  bang.  That  seemed 
to  do  him  good. 

"You  may  stay  away  from  the  office  on  Tues- 
day," he  began  — 


12  THE  KINSMAN 

" Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  not  at  all 
surprised. 

"Provided  you  stay  away  altogether,"  con- 
cluded Mr.  Angelo. 

"Of  course  I  have  no  desire  to  do  that,"  said 
Mr.  Gammage,  sulkily. 

"Then  you'll  be  at  your  desk  on  Tuesday  at 
the  usual  time.  That  will  do,  Mr.  Gammage." 

"What  luck?"  whispered  Mr.  Salter,  seeing  that 
his  friend  looked  put  out. 

"The  usual,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "I'm  sick  of 
it." 


CHAPTER  II 

WHEN  Mr.  Salter  reached  Waterloo  there  was 
the  usual  little  crowd  of  people  in  front  of  the 
train  board  in  the  north  station.  He  joined  it 
himself  and  found  there  was  a  quick  train  to 
Putney  in  five  minutes.  As  he  made  his  way  out 
of  the  crowd  again  he  saw  the  pretty  face  of  Miss 
Florrie  Martin,  and  stopped  to  speak  to  her. 

"Goin'  by  the  6.28,  Miss  Martin?"   he  began. 

"I'm  waitin'  for  Bert,"  she  said.  "I  can't 
think  why  he  doesn't  turn  up." 

"He  won't  turn  up  for  hours.  He's  detained 
on  business." 

The  girl's  face  fell  woefully. 

"I've  got  two  tickets  given  for  the  Fulham 
Theatre  to-night,"  she  said.  "I  did  think  of  let- 
ting him  know,  and  then  it  seemed  unnecessary. 
He  always  comes  by  the  6.28." 

"Lines,"  said  Mr.  Salter. 

"I  suppose  I  may  as  well  go  on.  It's  no  use 
hangin'  about  here." 

13 


14  THE  KINSMAN 

"We  must  hurry  if  we  want  to  catch  the 
6.28." 

"You  didn't  seem  in  much  of  a  hurry  just 
now." 

"I  wasn't,"  said  Mr.  Salter,  "I'd  have  missed 
the  train  with  pleasure  for  the  sake  of  talking  to 
you." 

They  had  reached  their  platform  by  this  time, 
and  saw  the  guard  give  the  signal  for  departure 
as  they  passed  the  barrier.  The  train  began  to 
move ;  the  two  young  people  made  a  dash  for  it, 
amidst  cries  of  "Stand  back  !"  Mr.  Salter  wrenched 
open  a  door  and  helped  Miss  Martin  in  before  him, 
and  was  shoved  forward  himself  by  an  indignant 
porter,  who  travelled  some  distance  on  the  step  of 
the  carriage  on  purpose  to  tell  Mr.  Salter  what  he 
thought  of  him.  For  a  moment  the  altercation 
was  lively.  Then  the  porter  had  to  jump  off,  and 
Mr.  Salter  found  that  he  and  Miss  Martin  had 
the  compartment  to  themselves. 

"This  is  luck,"  he  said,  dropping  into  a  corner 
seat  and  fanning  himself  with  his  evening  paper. 

"I'm  glad  we  caught  it,"  said  Florrie. 

"Having  the  compartment  to  ourselves,  I 
mean,"  said  Mr.  Salter. 

"I  don't  see  any  particular  turn  in  that.     Of 


THE   KINSMAN  15 

course  it  gives  you  more  room  to  open  your 
paper." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  my  paper." 

"But  you  want  to  read  it.  Don't  let  me  hinder 
you." 

"You  don't  hinder  me.  You  wouldn't  hinder 
me  if  we  stayed  here  a  week.  I  wish  we  could." 

"It's  easy  talking  like  that  when  you  know 
you'll  be  at  Putney  in  ten  minutes  and  go  home  to 
supper." 

"I  wish  you  could  see  into  my  heart,"  said 
Mr.  Salter. 

"I  wish  I  could,  too.  I  should  like  to  see  what 
really  did  keep  Bert  to-night.  I  believe  you 
know  and  won't  tell  me." 

"If  you  had  one  of  those  crystals  like  the  palm- 
ists use,  you  could  look  at  it  and  see  Bert  slaving 
away  at  the  office.  Only  that  and  nothing  more, 
as  the  gentleman  said  of  the  Raven." 

"What  gentleman?" 

"He's  in  a  poem  I  recited  last  Christmas  at  an 
evening  party.  The  raven  sits  on  an  image  and 
says  'Nevermore,'  and  it  gets  on  the  gentleman's 
nerves  to  such  an  extent  that  he  writes  a  poem 
about  it." 

"What  a   peculiar  idea!     Not  much  in  it,  I 


16      ,  THE   KINSMAN 

should  say.  But  I  don't  care  for  poetry,  do 
you?" 

"I'm  rather  fond  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Salter,  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  makes  a  damaging  admission. 
"Sometimes  I  read  Shakespeare." 

"Not  for  pleasure,  surely.  But  would  you  call 
him  a  poet?" 

Mr.  Salter  considered  the  question  with  an  open 
mind  as  the  train  passed  slowly  through  Clapham 
Junction.  When  it  gathered  speed  again,  Miss 
Martin  said :  — 

"I  suppose  they  think  a  lot  of  Bert  at  your 
office?" 

"Do  you  mean  because  he's  working  overtime 
to-night?" 

"Yes.  I  suppose  the  boss  wanted  something 
done  in  a  hurry  and  knew  Bert  was  the  man." 

"It  looks  like  that,"  said  Mr.  Salter,  in  a  choked 
voice. 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  and  help  him?" 

"I  wasn't  asked." 

"Job  you  couldn't  be  trusted  with,  I'll  be 
bound." 

"Have  your  joke,"  said  Mr.  Salter. 

Miss  Martin  saw  that  she  had  gone  a  little  too 
far.  She  had  no  desire  to  quarrel  with  Mr. 


THE  KINSMAN  17 

Salter.  She  knew  him  to  be  a  steady,  hard- 
working man,  and  she  had  frequently  annoyed 
Bert  by  advising  him  to  emulate  his  friend. 

"I  suppose  you  know  Bert  is  going  down  to 
Trevalla  for  Whitsuntide?"  she  said. 

"He's  been  talking  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Salter. 

"He  is  going  to  stay  with  my  uncle  and  aunt 
there.  They  used  to  know  his  mother." 

"Ever  been  yourself?" 

"Never  wanted  to.  It's  not  a  lively  place. 
Bert  has  a  fancy  for  it  because  his  grandfather 
lived  there,  the  one  he's  so  proud  of." 

"He  doesn't  seem  to  have  done  much  for  Bert." 

"First  he  ran  through  all  his  money;  then  he 
came  back  to  Trevalla  and  married  beneath  him ; 
then  he  drank  himself  to  death.  Father  can  tell 
you  all  about  him.  He  used  to  know  Bert's 
mother  when  she  was  a  girl.  In  fact,  it  was 
through  him  she  met  Mr.  Gammage  and  made  a 
respectable  marriage.  Mr.  Gammage  was  father's 
fellow-clerk  at  Johnson's.  Bert's  mother  was 
not  at  all  cultivated,  but  she  was  always  talk- 
ing about  her  father  being  a  gentleman.  Just  as 
if  her  husband  and  his  friends  were  not.  It  made 
her  rather  unpleasant  to  associate  with,  poor 
thing." 


18  THE  KINSMAN 

"Why 'poor  thing7?" 

"She's  been  dead  two  years,  you  see,  and  her 
husband  longer  still.  Bert  seems  to  have  no  one 
belonging  to  him  now  but  us,  and,  of  course,  he's 
not  really  one  of  the  family." 

"You  treat  him  as  if  he  was,"  said  Mr.  Salter, 
enviously. 

"Do  you  often  go  to  the  theatre?"  said  Miss 
Martin. 

"Never.  I  would,  though,  if  I  had  Bert's  luck 
and  could  prevail  on  you  to  come  with  me." 

"It's  very  awkward  about  to-night.  My 
brothers  are  engaged,  I  know.  Of  course  there's 
Daisy,  but  mother  doesn't  like  us  girls  coming 
back  across  the  Common  after  dark." 

"If  you'll  allow  me,"  said  Mr.  Salter,  "111 
be  at  the  door  of  the  theatre  and  see  you  and 
Miss  Daisy  home." 

Miss  Martin  looked  thoughtfully  out  of  the 
window  at  the  river  Wandle. 

"Daisy  has  seen  this  piece,"  she  said.  "Dick 
took  her  last  week." 

"Indeed,"  said  Mr.  Salter. 

"I  suppose  you  wouldn't  care  to  use  Bert's 
ticket?" 

"I  should  consider  it  a  privilege.     What  time 


THE  KINSMAN  19 

does  the  performance  commence  ?  If  you'll  allow 
me,  I'll  call  for  you." 

"Can't  you  come  on  to  Barnes  and  take  tea 
with  us?"  said  Florrie,  hastily  deciding  that  if 
the  supplies  were  short,  Daisy  could  be  sent  for 
sausages. 

"Won't  Mrs.  Martin  think  I'm  intruding?  "  said 
Mr.  Salter,  looking  so  happy  that  Florrie  took 
his  demur  the  way  it  was  meant,  as  a  polite  form. 

The  Martins  lived  in  a  row  of  houses  that  had  a 
charming  view  of  Barnes  Common  from  the  back 
windows.  They  liked  the  view  very  well,  but 
they  had  taken  the  house  because  it  had  excellent 
bedrooms  and  a  Lilliputian  kitchen.  The  whole 
family  could  be  accommodated,  and  then  there 
was  a  good  room  left  for  a  lodger.  Moreover,  with 
a  kitchen  the  size  of  a  bathing  machine,  no  one 
could  expect  Mrs.  Martin  to  keep  a  "girl"  —  a 
form  of  misery  she  strenuously  resisted.  Her 
husband  and  five  of  her  seven  children  were  at 
work  all  day,  Bobby  went  to  school,  and  Daisy 
was  getting  quite  handy  about  the  house.  On 
Sundays,  when  they  were  often  nine  or  ten  to 
meals,  Mrs.  Martin  didn't  deny  there  was  a  bit 
to  do,  but,  then,  Florrie  was  at  home,  too,  and 
helped  her. 


20  THE  KINSMAN 

Mr.  Salter  had  been  introduced  to  the  Martins 
about  three  weeks  ago  by  Mr.  Gammage.  He  had 
fallen  in  love  with  pretty  Florrie  on  the  spot  and 
more  or  less  with  the  whole  family.  They  were 
clever,  cheerful,  prosperous  people.  Two  of  the 
four  elder  boys  had  shown  a  turn  for  mechanics 
and  were  earning  high  wages  already  with  a  firm 
of  engineers;  Florrie  was  in  the  Post  Office; 
the  two  other  boys  were  with  warehousemen, 
and  meant  to  get  on.  There  are  many  homes  in 
higher  spheres  where  money  is  less  plentiful 
and  life  less  comfortably  adjusted  to  the  prevail- 
ing ideal. 

Mrs.  Martin  met  her  daughter  in  the  hall,  gave 
Mr.  Salter  a  hearty  welcome,  and  mentioned  that 
something  had  put  it  into  her  head  to  make  veal 
and  ham  patties  for  tea. 

"We  don't  reckon  much  of  supper,"  she  ex- 
plained to  her  guest;  "my  husband  and  children 
like  a  good  tea  when  they  get  back  from  their 
work,  and  it  suits  me  better  too.  Not  so  much 
late  washing  up.  Come  into  the  dining  room. 
Daisy,  put  down  that  novelette  at  once  and  help 
me  bring  in  tea.  Florrie  and  Mr.  Salter  won't 
want  to  wait.  Do  you  say  you've  come  straight 
from  the  office?  Then  you'll  want  a  brush  up. 


THE  KINSMAN  21 

You  know  your  way  to  Bert's  room,  don't 
you?" 

Mr.  Salter,  who  lived  alone  in  lodgings,  envied 
Bert  when  he  came  down  and  saw  the  tidy,  cheer- 
ful room  and  well-spread  table.  Mrs.  Martin  sat 
behind  a  big  brown  teapot ;  there  was  a  crusty 
loaf,  a  pat  of  butter,  a  pile  of  hot  patties,  a  fresh 
dripping  cake,  and  a  glass  dish  that  held  marma- 
lade on  one  side  and  gooseberry  jam  on  the  other. 
As  the  meal  progressed  one  and  another  of  the 
family  dropped  in,  and  by  the  time  Florrie  and 
Mr.  Salter  had  finished  all  the  young  Martins 
were  there  chattering  like  daws  and  eating,  as 
their  mother  said,  like  ravens. 

"Bert  is  in  luck,"  sighed  Mr.  Salter,  on  his  way 
to  the  theatre. 

"To  be  at  the  office  to-night  'stead  of  here?" 

"To  live  with  you.  You  know  well  enough 
what  I  mean,  Miss  Florrie.  Half  his  luck  would 
do  me." 

"I  don't  call  him  lucky,"  said  Florrie.  "He 
doesn't  seem  to  get  on.  Father's  afraid  he's  idle, 
but  father  has  a  crack  on  work.  He's  brought  us 
up  to  think  it's  better  to  be  a  sweep  than  a 
loafer." 

"So  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Salter;  "my  landlady  has 


22  THE  KINSMAN 

a  cousin  who  is  a  master  sweep.  I  once  had 
dinner  with  him  on  a  Sunday  .  .  .  when  he 
wasn't  black." 

"Sweeps  are  all  right,  of  course.  It's  just  a 
way  of  speaking." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Salter,  "but  ever  since  I  met 
one,  as  it  were,  in  society,  it  seems  hard  on 
sweeps." 

"When  father  doesn't  like  anyone,  he  calls 
him  a  duke.  It's  the  same  idea.  He  will  have 
it  that  Bert's  a  duke  —  poor  old  Bert." 

"He'll  grow  out  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Salter,  consol- 
ingly. "I  thought  you  said  it  was  twenty 
minutes  from  your  house  to  the  bridge." 

"Well,  look  at  the  church  clock." 

"I'm  going  by  my  feelings.  Half  a  minute  I 
should  call  it  if  I  wanted  to  be  accurate." 

Florrie  had  found  the  walk  a  short  one,  too, 
but  she  would  not  admit  it.  Altogether  the 
evening  passed  pleasantly.  The  play  was  a 
melodrama,  thrilling  from  first  to  last. 

"There  are  some  toughs  in  the  world,"  said 
Mr.  Salter,  reflectively,  as  they  were  walking 
home.  "Funny  one  never  comes  across  them. 
The  people  I  know  are  betwixt  and  between  — 
same  as  myself — not  very  good  and  not  very 
bad." 


THE  KINSMAN  23 

"Look  at  the  things  you  read  in  the  papers 
every  day,  though,"  said  Florrie;  " somebody  does 
them." 

They  walked  home,  and  it  was  nearly 
midnight  when  Florrie  bade  Mr.  Salter  a 
friendly  farewell  on  the  doorstep.  She  let 
herself  in  with  her  latch-key,  and  was  just 
going  upstairs  with  her  candle  lighted,  when 
the  dining-room  door  opened  and  Mr.  Gam- 
mage  hailed  her  in  a  whisper. 

"Bert,"  she  said  with  surprise,  "why  have 
you  sat  up?" 

"I  wanted  to  see  you.  I  shan't  come  back 
from  the  office  to-morrow,  and  you're  always  off 
before  me  in  the  morning." 

"What  time  did  you  get  home?" 

"Not  till  ten  o'clock.     They'd  done  supper." 

"Are  you  hungry?" 

"I  told  your  mother  I  wasn't,  but  I  am  now." 

Florrie  went  into  the  kitchen  and  soon  returned 
with  a  tray  holding  bread  and  cheese  and  a  small 
jug  of  beer. 

"I'm  hungry,  too,"  she  said,  helping  her- 
self; "so  you  really  are  going  to  Trevalla, 
Bert?" 

"Yes,  I'm  going." 


24  THE  KINSMAN 

» 

"What  you  got  the  hump  about?  Think  I 
ought  to  have  stayed  at  home  to-night  ?  Because 
that's  nonsense,  and  — 

"I'm  not  jealous  of  Salter.  He's  no  lady's 
man.  I  wonder  you  persuaded  him  to  go." 

"He  didn't  need  much  persuasion,"  said  Florrie, 
indignantly. 

"It's  my  own  affairs  that  trouble  me.  You 
see  I  can't  come  back  with  the  excursion.  That 
beast  Angelo  has  refused  me  the  extra  day.  I'll 
have  to  come  back  Monday  night  and  pay  my 
return  fare." 

"Then  you  don't  gain  anything  by  going  with 
the  excursion?" 

"Not  a  penny." 

"Why  don't  you  give  it  up?" 

"Because  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  go,  if  it's 
only  to  spite  Angelo.  I'm  not  weak." 

Florrie  looked  anxiously  at  the  young  man's 
sulky,  handsome  face.  His  looks  had  won  her 
affections,  and  though  no  official  engagement 
bound  them,  yet  they  had  agreed  that  there 
should  be  one  when  Bert  had  kept  his  present  post 
six  months.  But  sometimes  of  late  Florrie  had 
anxiously  compared  her  lover  with  her  brothers, 
and  wondered  whether  he  had  their  grit;  or, 


THE  KINSMAN  25 

indeed,  her  own.  But  so  far  she  had  not 
allowed  her  transient  doubts  to  unsettle 
her. 

" What's  the  difficulty,  Bert?"   she  said. 

"I've  run  short,"  said  the  young  man,  colour- 
ing. "I've  enough  for  the  excursion,  and  a  few 
shillings  over,  but  I  want  to  borrow  a  pound  for 
the  return  fare." 

"I'll  lend  it  you  if  you  really  want  to  go," 
said  Florrie,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "But 
why  don't  you  wait  till  August?  You'd  have 
a  fortnight  then,  and  it  would  be  more  worth 
while." 

"I'm  going  to-morrow,"  said  the  young  man, 
obstinately.  "If  I  can't  come  back  in  time,  I'll 
come  by  the  excursion  and  risk  it  with  old 
Angelo." 

"Does  he  give  you  extra  for  working  overtime 
to-night?" 

"Not  a  penny." 

"Then  why  do  you  do  it?" 

"It  doesn't  pay  to  be  disobliging,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage. 

The  girl  had  drawn  her  purse  from  her  pocket 
and  taken  a  sovereign  from  it.  She  put  it  on  the 
table  and  got  up  to  go. 


26  THE   KINSMAN 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you,  Florrie,"  said  the 
young  man,  feeling  fully  ashamed  of  himself. 

As  she  went  upstairs  Florrie  tried  to  imagine 
Mr.  Salter  borrowing  money  from  a  girl  to  pay 
for  a  jaunt  he  could  not  afford.  The  idea  was 
absurd,  and  she  sighed  as  she  recognised  this. 


CHAPTER  III 

IT  was  the  afternoon  of  Whit-Monday,  and  Miss 
Julia  Martin  was  getting  ready  to  go  with  Mr. 
Gammage  to  Rockmouth  Fair.  She  rolled  her 
black  hair  over  an  immense  pad  so  that  it  puffed 
out  on  either  side  of  her  pink  and  white  face. 
Then  she  put  on  a  brilliant  blue  blouse  with  a 
transparent  collarless  yoke,  a  black  skirt,  a  white 
belt,  and  a  large  burnt  straw  hat,  trimmed  with 
lace  and  forget-me-nots.  She  sprinkled  her 
handkerchief  with  opoponax,  tied  on  a  white  veil, 
took  up  a  blue  cotton  sunshade,  and  went  down- 
stairs well  satisfied.  Mr.  Gammage  felt  well 
satisfied,  too,  when  he  beheld  her.  She  was  not 
really  what  he  called  "smart,"  not  quite  up  to 
the  style  he  was  used  to  on  Putney  Hill  every 
Sunday  afternoon;  but  her  complexion  was  daz- 
zling, her  lips  were  as  red  as  ripe  cherries,  and 
her  eyes  full  of  artless  admiration  whenever  they 
met  his.  This  afternoon  as  she  put  on  her  brown 
kid  gloves  she  asked  Mr.  Gammage  to  button 

27 


28  THE  KINSMAN 

them.  After  the  gloves  came  a  hair  bracelet, 
with  a  clasp  she  could  not  manage.  As  he  bent 
over  her  wrist  she  remembered  a  chapter  in  "The 
Prince's  Curse/'  the  serial  now  running  in  her 
favourite  weekly.  The  Prince  had  stooped  over 
the  Lady  Vera's  wrist,  and  had  discovered  the 
clew  to  a  murder  in  the  big  central  ruby  of  her 
bracelet.  Julia  sighed  as  she  reflected  that  with 
most  of  us  real  life  never  quite  plays  the  game. 
Here  was  a  superb  young  man  and  here  was  she, 
but  murders,  rubies,  princes,  all  the  gorgeous 
accessories  of  the  scene,  were  wanting. 

"Be  those  real  diamonds  in  your  pin?"  she 
asked,  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  horseshoe  that 
ornamented  Mr.  Gammage's  tie. 

"They  are  real  Parisian,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"I'd  like  some  diamonds  ...  or  pearls,"  said 
Julia,  as  they  strolled  along  the  deep-sheltered 
lane  that  led  from  the  farmhouse  to  the  highroad. 
"I'd  like  a  pearl  necklace  with  five  rows.  Do 
Cousin  Florrie  wear  much  jewellery?" 

"She  wears  a  pearl  dog-collar  on  Sundays  and 
when  she  goes  to  dances." 

"Do  she  go  to  dances  in  a  low  dress  .  .  .  like 
you  see  in  the  fashion  books?" 

"You  couldn't  well  wear  anything  else  about 


THE  KINSMAN  29 

London  when  you  go  to  a  dance  .  .  .  not  to  look 
smart." 

"Be  Florrie  smart?" 

"Very  much  so.     All  her  set  is,  in  fact." 

"I'd  like  to  come  to  London  and  earn  thirty 
shillings  a  week  same  as  Florrie  do,"  said  the  girl. 
"'Tis  easy  to  be  smart  wi'  all  that  to  spend." 

"It  isn't  as  much  as  you'd  think,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage,  with  feeling,  "when  you've  paid  your 
train  fares  and  your  dinners  and  your  board  and 
lodging. " 

"But  I  suppose  you  make  more  than  Florrie. 
A  man  always  can,  can't  he?" 

"Of  course,  I'm  only  at  the  commencement  of 
my  career,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  flicking  at  the 
wild  roses  in  the  hedgerow  near  him.  "I'm  not 
wrapt  up  in  the  city.  Sometimes  I  think  I'll 
have  a  dash  at  Orstralia,  like  my  grandfather." 

"When  we  get  past  the  turn  in  the  road,  I'll 
show  'e  the  house  where  your  grandfaither  was 
born  .  .  .  what  there  is  left  of  it." 

Mr.  Gammage  had  asked  about  the  house 
directly  he  arrived,  and  had  been  told  of  its  fallen 
fortunes.  The  decaying  cliff  had  crumbled  far- 
ther and  farther  back,  until  in  the  course  of  years 
it  stood  so  perilously  that  all  men  feared  to  live 


30  THE  KINSMAN 

there.  Time,  weather,  and  neglect  had  brought 
the  place  to  ruin,  and  last  winter,  after  weeks 
of  heavy  rain,  there  had  been  a  landslip  that 
carried  the  greater  part  of  the  old  buildings  with 
it.  The  very  stones  were  scattered  now,  and  the 
tumbling  barns  and  outhouses  only  gave  shelter 
to  flocks  of  sheep  and  migratory  birds. 

"Can't  even  see  what  shape  and  size  it  was," 
said  Mr.  Gammage,  feeling  disappointed.  There 
was  nothing  here  that  he  could  note  with  pride 
and  afterwards  describe  to  Mr.  Salter.  He  stood 
on  the  grassy  edge  of  the  cliff  with  Julia,  and 
looked  at  the  three  broken  sides 'of  a  roofless  barn. 
Beyond  them  they  saw  the  sea,  and  to  the  east 
the  dangerous  headland  known  as  the  Devil's 
Neck. 

"You  can  get  to  the  shore  that  way,"  said 
Julia,  pointing  to  a  steep,  overgrown  path  wrig- 
gling down  the  face  of  the  cliff. 

"Anything  to  see?" 

"No  more  than  here.  That  big  pointed  rock 
sticking  out  of  the  sea  with  a  lot  o'  little  ones 
near  it  be  the  Coffin  Rock.  They  call  this  Coffin 
Bay." 

"Pleasant  name,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"If    a  man  gets  in  the  currents    near    them 


THE  KINSMAN  31 

rocks,  he  goes  down  like  a  stone,  swimmer  or  no. 
An'  often  their  bodies  come  ashore  miles  an7  miles 
away." 

Mr.  Gammage  cast  an  appraising  eye  at  the 
sea,  the  sky,  and  the  vast  headlands  that  shut  in 
the  bay.  The  cliff  was  as  gay  as  a  garden  with 
valerian,  gorse,  and  broom,  and  the  sea-thrift 
spread  like  a  sunset  from  rock  to  rock  until  the 
pink  sheen  of  it  met  the  surf  of  the  breakers  that 
came  rolling  into  the  bay. 

"  Let's  go  on  to  the  fair,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 
"We've  seen  this." 

Another  half-hour  took  them  to  Rockmouth 
and  the  noisy  rout  there.  Directly  they  reached 
the  crowd  Julia  met  some  friends,  and  introduced 
her  London  beau,  of  whom  she  felt  extremely 
proud.  He  did  not  speak  or  behave  in  a  coun- 
trified way,  and  his  clothes  had  a  town  cut  that 
she  admired.  But  when  she  saw  that  he  had 
made  an  impression  on  the  Green  girls,  she  con- 
trived to  separate  from  them  again. 

"I'm  glad  you  managed  that,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage. "It  is  nice  by  ourselves." 

He  had  arrived  at  Trevalla  after  midnight  on 
Saturday,  and  he  had  spent  the  whole  long,  sleepy 
Sunday  in  Julia's  company.  He  had  escorted 


32  THE  KINSMAN 

her  to  church  and  back  through  quiet  lanes;  he 
had  loafed  away  the  afternoon  with  her  on  the 
shore;  and  when  they  came  back  to  tea,  they 
still  had  the  evening  hours  before  them.  These 
they  spent  in  the  garden,  and  by  the  time  they 
went  to  bed  it  had  got  to  kisses  snatched  and  per- 
functorily denied. 

Mr.  Gammage  knew  that  he  was  acting  the  gay 
deceiver,  but  in  such  cases  every  step  forward 
makes  it  harder  to  recede.  When  a  girl  has  tempt- 
ing lips  that  you  kiss  overnight,  can  you  dis- 
dain them  next  morning?  When  the  glamour 
of  a  summer  evening  has  invoked  a  whispered 
"  darling,"  have  you  the  effrontery  to  try  a  colder 
address  by  day?  Mr.  Gammage  did  try  it,  and 
felt  like  a  brute,  the  girl's  eyes  met  his  with  such 
disappointment  and  chagrin.  She  was  a  much 
more  emotional  girl  than  her  cousin  Florrie,  he 
found ;  quicker  to  respond,  less  critical,  less  de- 
termined, and,  it  must  be  said,  less  self-respecting. 
He  would  have  felt  uneasy  if  he  had  not  reflected 
that  to-night  must  end  the  whole  matter.  His 
little  bag  had  been  sent  to  Rockmouth  Station  by 
one  of  the  farm  carts  that  morning,  and  at  nine 
o'clock  his  train  left  for  London.  Julia  was  to 
see  him  off,  and  to  return  to  Trevalla  with  friends. 


THE  KINSMAN  33 

For  the  next  few  hours,  therefore,  he  might  as 
well  please  his  companion  and  himself. 

Julia  was  easily  pleased.  She  liked  little  penny 
necklaces  made  of  shells  and  beads ;  and  flails  of 
coloured  paper;  and  fancy  gingerbread;  and  all 
the  side  shows.  Mr.  Gammage  had  come  to  the 
fair  with  fifteen  shillings  over  and  above  the 
sovereign  lent  him  by  Florrie  for  his  return  jour- 
ney, but  eight  of  these  were  soon  spent.  When 
he  only  had  one  available  shilling  left,  he  wished 
he  had  never  come  to  the  fair.  He  had  not  known 
it  would  involve  so  much  treating.  He  looked 
about  anxiously  for  a  tent  where  they  would 
charge  sixpence  a  head  for  tea,  and  he  remembered 
that  it  must  be  his  last  meal  till  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. The  twenty-six  shillings  left  would  just  pay 
his  railway  fare,  get  his  bag  from  the  cloak  room, 
and,  after  a  meagre  early  breakfast,  take  him 
from  Paddington  to  the  city  to-morrow  morning. 

11  What's  wrong  with  'e?"  said  Julia,  noticing 
that  he  had  turned  glum. 

"It's  that  clock,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "I 
never  heard  such  a  clock.  It  won't  leave  you 
alone." 

"Tis  the  Town  Hall  clock,"  said  Julia.  "Maybe 
you'd  like  to  have  a  look  at  the  town." 


34  THE  KINSMAN 

"I  shouldn't  mind,"  said  Mr.Gammage.  "We'll 
have  tea  first.  Here  we  are.  That  little  table  in 
the  corner  looks  nice.  Isn't  there  a  quiet  place 
anywhere  near  .  .  .  with  seats  and  trees  .  .  . 
like  last  night  .  .  .  where  we  could  say  good-bye? 
I'm  tired  of  the  fair." 

This  suggestion  made  its  appeal  to  Julia  as 
strongly  as  Mr.  Gammage  could  wish,  and  she 
hurried  through  tea  without  asking  for  extras  as 
he  had  feared  she  might.  They  walked  through 
the  town  together,  and  then  Julia  led  the  way  to 
a  secluded  corner  of  Rockmouth  Park. 

"When  will  'e  come  to  see  us  again?"  she  said, 
trying  to  seem  unconscious  that  Mr.  Gammage  had 
absently  settled  himself  on  the  seat  with  his  arm 
round  her  waist. 

He  would  come  as  soon  as  he  could,  he  said,  and 
talked  vaguely  of  a  fortnight's  holiday  in  August. 
Julia  said  August  was  a  long  way  off,  and  why 
didn't  her  Aunt  Jenny  invite  her  to  stay  at  Barnes  ? 
She  supposed  her  fine  London  cousins  would  think 
her  countrified.  This  naturally  paved  the  way  for 
some  pretty  speeches  that  passed  imperceptibly 
into  love-making.  No  one  was  in  sight  or  hearing. 
The  distant  hullaballoo  of  the  fair  only  emphasised 
the  silence  of  this  lonely  spot,  where  the  branches 


THE   KINSMAN  35 

of  great  trees  met  overhead  and  made  deep  shade. 
It  grew  chilly  as  evening  fell,  but  the  two  ab- 
sorbed young  people  did  not  notice  this,  nor  did 
they  notice  the  Town  Hall  clock  as  it  struck  the 
flying  hour.  There  was  just  light  enough  for  Mr. 
Gammage  to  see  Julia's  melting  eyes  and  full 
white  throat ;  for  her  to  see  the  lover  of  her 
dreams  .  .  .  not  a  yokel  like  the  others  .  .  . 
not  coarse  and  stammering  and  country  bred  .  .  . 
but  a  man  of  the  world,  easy  of  speech,  free  with 
his  money,  large  in  his  ideas.  He  had  just  said  that 
when  he  married  he  would  not  allow  his  wife  to 
spoil  her  pretty  hands  with  housework.  He  would 
wish  her  to  wear  pretty  blouses,  and  sit  in  the 
drawing-room  all  day.  Julia,  who  was  lazy  by 
temperament,  liked  the  picture.  But,  just  as  she 
was  about  to  say  so,  the  Town  Hall  clock  struck 
the  third  quarter  after  eight,  and  Mr.  Gammage 
jumped  to  his  feet  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

"How  far  is  it  to  the  station  from  here?"  he 
said. 

"I  doan't  know,"  said  Julia,  rather  offended  by 
this  sudden  jchange  of  tone. 

"But  you  know  the  way  .  .  .  and  I  have  my 
bag  to  get.  Come  along.  Never  mind  all  that 
rubbish." 


36  THE  KINSMAN 

Julia  was  gathering  together  her  fairings,  and 
did  not  hurry  as  much  as  Mr.  Gammage  wished. 
"Would  it  matter  if  you  missed  the  train?" 
she  asked. 

"I  should  lose  my  berth.  That's  all." 
"But  you  said  you  didn't  care  much  for  it." 
Mr.  Gammage  hardly  answered.  He  was  walk- 
ing at  a  great  pace,  breathless  and  anxious.  She 
did  not  understand  what  the  future  looked  like 
to  her  lover  if  he  missed  this  train ;  but  she  suf- 
fered from  the  revulsion  of  feeling  that  thrust  her 
from  him.  He  was  running  now,  and  she  could 
hardly  keep  up  with  him.  When  at  last  they 
reached  the  main  street  leading  to  the  station, 
the  stitch  in  her  side  was  so  painful  that  she  fell 
back  panting.  Mr.  Gammage  looked  over  his 
shoulder  at  her,  but  did  not  slacken  his  speed. 
His  face  startled  her,  it  looked  so  pale  and  hunted, 
and  as  the  first  stroke  of  nine  boomed  over  the 
town  from  the  Town  Hall  clock  she  stood  still 
uncertainly.  He  had  reached  the  station  yard 
now,  but  she  was  still  about  a  hundred  yards 
from  it.  After  a  moment's  hesitation,  however, 
she  went  on.  It  was  three  minutes  past  the  hour 
when  she  entered  the  Booking  Office  and  saw  Mr. 
Gammage  in  violent  altercation  with  two  of  the 


THE  KINSMAN  37 

railway  officials.  She  knew  at  once  that  he  had 
lost  his  train. 

"  Stopped  me  at  the  barrier  to  ask  for  my 
ticket  when  the  train  was  on  the  move.  It's  in- 
famous. That's  the  only  word  for  it  —  infamous  ! " 

But  in  an  argument  like  this  the  officials  easily 
had  the  best  of  it.  They  threatened  to  turn  Mr. 
Gammage,  neck  and  crop,  out  of  the  station  ;  and, 
if  he  didn't  go  quietly,  to  charge  him  with  trying 
to  defraud  the  company. 

"I  did  think  of  going  back  first  class,"  he  said 
in  an  impressive  way  to  Julia,  "but  I  find  the 
next  train  would  be  of  no  use  to  me.  I  may  just 
as  well  wait  for  the  excursion  to-morrow.  I  must 
telegraph  to  the  office." 

"Then  you'll  come  back  with  me  to-night?" 
said  Julia. 

He  got  his  little  black  bag  out  of  the  cloak  room, 
sent  off  his  telegram,  and  then  went  with  Julia 
into  Rockmouth  High  Street  again.  They  agreed 
to  walk  home  by  the  cliff  path  ahead  of  the  crowd 
returning  from  the  fair.  Mr.  Gammage  had  partly 
recovered  his  spirits.  The  thought  of  the  twenty- 
four  shillings  that  need  not  now  be  used  for  a 
railway  ticket  consoled  him.  He  had  spent  one 
shilling  on  his  telegram,  which  he  had  made  very 


38  THE  KINSMAN 

full  and  apologetic,  and  which  he  hoped  might 
pacify  Mr.  Angelo.  Anyway  he  was  not  going 
to  spoil  the  present  hour  by  looking  forward  to 
the  worst.  He  had  money  in  his  pocket,  a  pretty 
girl  on  his  arm,  and  a  clear  sky  overhead.  He 
sauntered  up  the  High  Street,  and  stopped  of 
his  own  accord  at  a  small  fancy  shop,  one  of  the 
few  not  closed  on  Bank  Holiday.  Julia  pointed 
to  some  pearl  necklaces  in  the  window. 

"Is  that  the  same  as  Florrie  wears?"  she  asked. 

"Florrie  bought  hers  in  Oxford  Street,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage.  "You  wouldn't  get  the  same  thing 
here.  But  these  are  not  bad." 

"I  think  they'm  lovely,"  said  Julia,  with  a  sigh. 
So  Mr.  Gammage  went  into  the  shop  and  bought 
her  one  that  cost  five  shillings.  As  he  clasped 
it  round  her  throat  she  reproached  him  for  his 
extravagance,  but  her  eyes  promised  him  kisses 
when  they  should  be  by  themselves  again. 

"I  am  glad  you  missed  your  train,"  she  said 
later.  They  had  arrived  at  the  ruins  of  the  old 
Blois  house  by  this  time,  and  Mr.  Gammage  had 
just  told  Julia  she  was  the  girl  he  really  loved. 

"I  am  glad  to  be  here,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"Shall  we  tell  faither  and  mother  to-night  or 
to-morrow?" 


THE  KINSMAN  39 

"Tell  them  what?" 

"That  we'm  keepin'  company." 

"Shouldn't  have  thought  it  needed  much  tellin'. 
They've  both  got  eyes,  haven't  they?" 

"Prissy  Gannet  was  married  in  white  muslin," 
the  lady  continued  pensively.  "I've  set  my 
heart  on  white  silk  ever  since.  Which  do  'e  like 
best  for  a  bride  ?  Prissy  Gannet  was  our  cowman's 
daughter,  and  mother  said  it  was  ridiculous. 
It  was  all  along  of  her  going  out  to  service  and 
getting  her  head  full  of  nonsense.  When  shall 
we  get  married,  Bert?  I'm  sick  of  Trevalla." 

"Let's  get  home  now,"  said  the  young  man, 
without  ardour.  "I  call  it  cold." 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHILE  Mr.  Gammage  sat  at  a  late  breakfast  with 
Julia  next  morning  the  postman  delivered  two  let- 
ters, one  for  each  of  them.  They  had  both  been 
posted  on  Saturday  from  Barnes.  Julia's  letter  was 
from  her  cousin  Florrie,  and  as  she  read  it  she  smiled 
and  glanced  across  the  table  at  Mr.  Gammage,  im- 
patient to  share  her  pleasure  with  him.  But  he  was 
reading  his  letter  with  fixed  eyes  and  a  scowling 
frown.  It  was  from  Mr.  Salter,  and  ran  as  follows: 

"350  NORROY  ROAD,  PUTNEY. 
"  Saturday. 

"DEAR  BERT  :  — I  hope  you  had  a  pleasant  jour- 
ney and  are  doing  yourself  well.  This  is  to  inform 
you  of  an  occurrence  that  took  place  at  the  office 
this  afternoon,  about  five  minutes  after  you  left 
to  catch  your  train.  The  Italian  mail  arrived  and 
brought  the  boss  tidings  of  your  last  little  game. 
What  a  chap  you  are !  You  remember  that  bill 
of  exchange  for  a  hundred  pounds  on  Filippo 
Bellini  at  Naples?  I  myself  heard  the  boss  tell 
you  the  name  of  the  bank  you  were  to  send  it  to. 
Instead  of  which  you  stuck  it  in  an  envelope  and 

40 


THE  KINSMAN  41 

posted  it  to  Mr.  Bellini  himself,  who  says  now  he 
never  got  it,  and  never  heard  of  such  a  document, 
and  could  not  dream  of  paying  it.  The  boss 
says  he  will  never  see  that  hundred  pounds  now. 
He  was  so  pleased.  I  never  heard  a  finer  flow  of 
language  off  the  towing-path. 

"Seriously,  old  man,  if  I  was  you  I  would  have 
a  dash  at  that  dog-cart  —  or  else  Australia,  only 
I  don't  know  how  you'll  get  there.  I  wouldn't 
come  back  to  Wood  Street.  It  isn't  good  enough. 
Angelo  says  he  won't  recommend  you  to  anyone, 
and  won't  give  you  more  than  fifteen  shillings  a 
week  himself.  I  pointed  out  that  you  could  not 
live  on  fifteen  shillings  a  week,  but  he  said  plenty 
of  better  men  did,  and  it  would  do  you  good  to 
try.  Of  course,  he  was  not  in  a  reasonable  mood, 
but  the  question  is,  will  he  be  any  better  by 
Tuesday  morning?  I  often  wonder  why  all  the 
employment  of  the  world  is  in  the  hands  of  beasts. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  so.  I  have  not  said 
anything  at  Barnes,  nor  do  I  intend  to.  I  thought 
you  would  probably  treat  the  episode  as  a  matter 
of  business  and  not  mention  it  to  our  mutual 
friends.  Yours  sincerely, 

"JAMES  SALTER." 

"I  have  such  a  nice  letter  from  London,"  said 
Julia,  joyfully. 


42  THE  KINSMAN 

"So  have  I,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"They  want  me  to  go." 

"Same  here.     At  least  it  amounts  to  that." 

"Well,  you'm  going  to-day,  ban't  you?  and  I'm 
going  with  'e,  if  I  can  get  over  faither,  that  is." 

"What?"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  his  mouth  and 
eyes  remaining  wide  open  in  his  astonishment. 

"This  letter  is  from  Florrie.  She  says  they 
suddenly  had  the  idea  that  I'd  never  been  to  see 
them,  and  why  shouldn't  I  seize  the  opportunity 
and  travel  back  with  you  —  yesterday.  They 
thought  we'd  get  these  letters  yesterday.  My 
stars !  you  never  telegraphed  to  tell  them  you'd 
missed  your  train.  Were  they  going  to  sit  up  for 
'e  half  the  night?" 

"No.  The  train  wasn't  to  get  in  till  nearly 
five.  I  meant  to  have  breakfast  and  a  nap  in  a 
waiting  room  and  go  straight  to  the  office." 

"They  wouldn't  be  frightened,  then?" 

"Florrie  will  guess  to-night  that  I  am  coming 
back  by  the  excursion.  She's  a  girl  with  all  her 
wits  about  her." 

"I'll  be  jealous  of  her  if  'e  don't  take  care," 
said  Julia. 

"Of  course  you  can't  come  off  all  of  a  sudden  like 
this,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 


THE  KINSMAN  43 

"Why  not?" 

"You  want  a  lot  more  clothes  in  London  than 
you  do  here  .  .  .  different  ones.  They'd  be  tak- 
ing you  about  to  Earl's  Court  and  the  Crystal 
Palace  and  theatres.  You've  no  idea  how 
extensively  ladies  dress  in  those  places." 

"I  doan't  doubt  it,"  said  Julia;  "that's  why  I 
want  to  see  'em.  Living  down  to  Trevalla  you 
get  no  ideas.  I  suppose  I'll  want  a  few  new  clothes 
before  long." 

Mr.  Gammage  began  to  think  the  young  lady 
rather  forward.  He  had  not  once  alluded  to 
their  marriage,  but  she  seemed  unable  to  open 
her  mouth  without  doing  so. 

"What's  your  letter  about?"  she  said,,  trying  to 
snatch  it  from  him.  She  had  these  playful  ways. 

"It's  private  business,"  said  Mr.  Gammage, 
putting  it  into  his  pocket. 

The  girl  pouted,  allowed  herself  to  be  pacified, 
and  then  suddenly  got  up. 

"I  must  catch  faither.  I  can  hear  him  in  the 
yard,"  she  said. 

In  five  minutes,  while  Mr.  Gammage  was  still 
looking  at  Mr.  Salter's  letter  for  the  second  time, 
she  came  back  again. 

"Tis  all  right"  she  said;  "I've  got  my  pig,  and 


44  THE   KINSMAN 

faither  says  if  I  be  fool  enough  to  spend  it  this 
way  he  can't  stop  me.  Faither's  a  comical- 
tempered  man,  ban't  he?" 

"I've  hardly  seen  him,"  said  Mr.  Gammage, 
who  had  not  exchanged  a  dozen  words  with  his 
surly  host  since  his  arrival. 

"He  cheered  up,  though,  when  I  told  him  I 
should  soon  be  off  his  hands." 

Mr.  Gammage  sighed  lugubriously.  He  was 
just  going  to  ask  Julia  how  a  pig  would  help  her 
to  get  to  London  when  she  ran  out  of  the  room 
again.  As  she  did  so  her  mother  came  in.  She 
was  a  good-natured,  rather  simple  woman,  of  am- 
ple proportions,  lazy,  garrulous,  and  sentimental. 
It  was  she  who  had  sent  the  invitation  to  Mr. 
Gammage  and  who  had  always  wished  to  keep 
up  some  connection  with  the  prosperous  London 
cousins.  When  Mr.  Gammage  arrived  she  felt 
sure  that  she  had  done  a  clever  thing,  and  when 
she  saw  the  impression  on  him  made  by  Julia  she 
rejoiced  greatly,  poor  woman.  Last  night  and 
this  morning  Julia's  high  spirits,  as  well  as  her 
hints,  sufficiently  revealed  the  position  of  affairs. 
There  was  an  understanding  between  her  girl 
and  her  guest  that  would  shortly  take  the  form 
of  a  betrothal,  and  in  due  time  of  a  marriage. 


THE  KINSMAN  45 

She  did  not  trouble  herself  about  the  young  man's 
prospects.  His  black  coat,  his  soft  hands,  his 
good  looks,  and  his  town-bred  ways  all  made  a 
strong  appeal  to  her  imagination.  Julia's  father 
could  be  trusted  to  deal  with  the  practical  side 
of  affairs,  and  to  make  himself  as  disagreeable 
as  his  duty  by  his  child  prescribed.  Meanwhile 
the  adventurous  invitation  had  brought  pleasant 
fruit  already.  Here  was  Julia  as  good  as  engaged 
to  a  young  man  she  could  truthfully  describe  as 
a  perfect  gentleman,  and  here  was  this  invita- 
tion from  the  London  cousins  who  had  hitherto 
not  troubled  much  about  their  relations  at  Tre- 
valla.  She  began  to  clear  away  the  breakfast 
things,  talking  nineteen  to  the  dozen  as  she  did 
so,  and  explaining  that  this  sudden  turn  in  Julia's 
affairs  made  them  both  so  busy  that  they  hardly 
knew  whether  they  were  on  their  heads  or  their 
heels.  Julia,  she  said,  had  gone  off  to  borrow 
her  Aunt  Susan's  tin  trunk,  because  there  was  no 
newer  luggage  in  the  house  than  the  carpet  bag 
Mrs.  Martin's  father  had  bought  for  his  wedding- 
jaunt  fifty  years  ago. 

"Julia  said  they'd  laugh  at  it  in  London,"  she 
babbled  on,  "and  she  thought  you  wouldn't  like 
that.  She's  in  a  taking  about  her  clothes,  too, 


46  THE  KINSMAN 

poor  maid.  I  tell  her  they  won't  beat  her  eyes 
and  her  skin  in  London,  and  when  it  comes  to 
courtin'  — " 

Mrs.  Martin  paused  to  let  Mr.  Gammage  make 
the  obvious  rejoinder,  but  it  was  not  forthcoming. 
He  sat  by  a  window  crowded  with  geraniums  and 
other  flowering  plants,  and  he  looked  most  de- 
jected. But  Mrs.  Martin  did  not  notice  this. 
She  clattered  in  and  out  of  the  room,  and  was 
presently  joined  by  her  daughter,  equally  elated 
and  equally  blind  to  their  guest's  depression. 

"If  you  want  a  walk  this  morning,  you'll  have 
to  go  by  yourself,"  said  Julia  to  him.  "I've  a 
frock  to  iron  and  a  hat  to  trim  and  my  blue  blouse 
to  mend.  'Twill  take  me  all  my  time  to  be  ready 
and  packed  up  by  four  o'clock.  We  must  leave 
at  a  quarter-past  latest." 

"You  really  mean  to  come,  then?"  said  Mr. 
Gammage,  rousing  himself  a  little. 

"I'd  like  to  know  why  you  don't  want  me," 
said  the  girl,  with  quick,  angry  suspicion.  "I'm 
coming  all  the  same.  It's  too  big  a  bit  of  fun  to 
miss;  but  I  just  wonder  why  you're  against  it." 

"I'm  neither  against  it  nor  for  it,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage.  "If  you  put  it  like  that  —  it's  no 
concern  of  mine." 


THE  KINSMAN  47 

"Just  what  I  think.  It's  early  days  for  you 
to  be  interferin'  — " 

"Oh,  if  you  want  to  make  a  quarrel  of  it — " 

"I  doan't,"  said  the  girl,  going  up  to  the  young 
man  and  perching  on  his  knee;  "but  can't  'e 
see  I'm  mad  to  go  to  London  —  with  you,  too  — 
and  no  bidding  each  other  good-bye.  Seems  as 
if  you  were  set  on  spoiling  my  pleasure." 

"I  don't  want  to  spoil  anyone's  pleasure,  I'm 
sure,"  protested  Mr.  Gammage;  "there  isn't  too 
much  pleasure  knocking  about  for  most  of  us, 
and  we  may  as  well  take  it  as  it  comes.  But 
what'll  your  father  say  if  he  catches  you  sitting  on 
my  knee,  Julia?  I  can  hear  his  voice  in  the  kitchen." 

"Why  don't  you  tell  him  —  what  you  told  me 
last  night?" 

"Because  I'd  rather  wait  a  bit.  I've  a  letter 
in  my  pocket  this  very  minute  that  may  make 
a  considerable  difference  to  my  prospects." 

"Let's  see  it,"  said  Julia. 

But  Mr.  Gammage  again  resisted  the  young 
lady's  curiosity,  and  in  the  course  of  a  playful  and 
lively  struggle  he  managed  to  free  himself  and  rise 
to  his  feet. 

"I'm  going  out,"  he  said. 

"That's  what  I  came  in  about  —  to  ask  if  you'd 


48  THE  KINSMAN 

mind  walking  as  far  as  Rockmouth.  You  see, 
Florrie  asks  me  to  telegraph,  and  we  can't  nearer 
than  Rockmouth.  She  thought  I'd  get  her  letter 
yesterday  in  time  to  travel  with  you  if  you  hadn't 
missed  your  train." 

"I  may  as  well  walk  to  Rockmouth  as  anywhere 
else,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  and  when  Julia 
had  escorted  him  to  the  garden  gate  he  got  away. 

It  was  a  brilliant  summer  morning,  and  the  sea 
danced  and  sparkled  in  the  sunshine.  Though 
the  cliff  where  he  walked  was  high,  he  could  hear 
the  lap  of  little  waves  on  the  shore,  and  in  some 
places  he  could  see  the  shore  and  the  surf  break- 
ing on  it  in  a  froth.  The  fresh  salt  breeze  mingled 
with  the  strong  scent  of  thyme  growing  in  great 
clumps  near  the  path  and  with  the  honied  per- 
fume of  gorse  flowering  for  miles  inland.  All  the 
skylarks  in  the  country  seemed  to  be  singing  to- 
day, and  the  blue  of  the  heavens  was  as  clear  and 
deep  as  the  blue  of  these  western  seas. 

But  the  beauty  of  his  surroundings  could  not 
console  poor  Mr.  Gammage,  and  as  he  went  on  his 
spirits  sank  until  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  very 
body  was  affected  by  his  mental  trouble,  for  he 
felt  sick  and  cold  and  tremulous.  He  could  not 
see  any  way  of  escape,  and  he  did  not  know  how 


THE  KINSMAN  49 

to  face  his  difficulties.  He  certainly  had  made 
that  little  mistake  with  the  bill  of  exchange. 
He  remembered  being  uncertain  where  he  ought 
to  send  it,  and  deciding  that  it  was  less  bother 
to  use  the  name  on  the  bill  than  to  inquire.  Of 
course,  it  was  outrageous  to  suppose  he  was  going 
to  live  on  fifteen  shillings  a  week.  Fifteen  shil- 
lings a  week  meant  what?  At  best  a  cubicle  in 
Rowton  House,  at  worst  some  dirty  attic  and  semi- 
starvation.  Yet  if  Mr.  Angelo  refused  to  speak 
for  him  he  might  find  even  fifteen  shillings  a  week 
beyond  him,  and  be  walking  the  streets  soon,  one 
of  the  unemployed.  He  had  heard  many  a  grisly 
story  of  the  straits  to  which  men  thrown  out  of 
employment  are  sometimes  reduced,  men  with 
neither  means  nor  friends.  Billy  Saunders  had 
once  been  a  clerk  with  a  decent  coat  to  his  back 
and  a  decent  roof  to  his  head;  and  only  a  week 
ago  in  a  cold  wind  and  a  driving  rain  Mr.  Gam- 
mage  had  met  him  pacing  the  Strand  as  a  sand- 
wich man.  The  poor  fellow's  miserable  clothes,  his 
unshaven  face,  his  look  of  hollow-eyed  despair, 
came  back  to  Mr.  Gammage  now,  the  spectre  of 
a  fate  that  might  await  him. 

The  Martins  at  Barnes  had  stood  his  friends 
ever  since  his  mother  died,  but  would  they  stand 


50  THE  KINSMAN 

his  friends  now  when  Julia  had  told  her  story? 
It  was  more  likely  that  Florrie's  father  and  brothers 
would  unite  to  turn  him  out  of  the  house.  His 
" understanding"  with  Florrie  had  been  an- open 
secret  in  the  family,  and  though  the  father  did 
not  approve  of  him,  he  would  not  tamely  see  his 
daughter  jilted.  As  Mr.  Gammage  swung  dis- 
consolately along  the  cliff  path  he  wished  he  could 
walk  like  this  until  he  had  walked  right  away 
from  Julia  and  away  from  his  old  life,  which  had 
become  unmanageable.  The  more  he  thought  of 
it  the  more  impossible  it  seemed  to  go  back 
to  Barnes  in  Julia's  company  and  endure  the  scorn 
of  both  girls  when  his  fickleness  became  known. 
And,  thought  the  young  man  miserably,  if  Julia 
went  on  in  her  uncle's  house  as  she  did  at  the  farm, 
everything  would  be  known  the  first  five  minutes. 
She  would  probably  sit  on  his  knee  and  tweak  his 
ear  before  Florrie's  very  eyes. 

Mr.  Gammage  had  arrived  now  at  the  ruins  of 
the  old  Blois  house,  and  he  halted  there,  looking 
about  him  at  the  shattered  remains  of  his  ances- 
tors' homestead  and  thinking  that  if  his  ancestors 
had  been  men  of  a  different  caliber  their  descendant 
would  not  be  standing  between  the  devil  and  the 
deep  sea  to-day.  As  he  stood  there  his  eye  was 


THE   KINSMAN  51 

caught  by  the  top  of  the  winding  path  that  led 
down  the  face  of  the  cliff  to  the  shore.  Yester- 
day it  had  looked  steep  and  forbidding,  to-day 
he  felt  tempted  to  try  it.  If  he  fell  and  broke  his 
neck,  so  much  the  better,  he  thought,  as  he  slipped 
on  the  loose  sand  of  the  first  few  yards.  But  he 
clutched  at  some  coarse  grass  and  saved  himself, 
and  then  continued  the  descent  with  greater  care. 
At  one  place  he  found  it  easier  to  turn  round,  and 
with  his  face  to  the  cliff  slither  down  on  his  hands 
and  knees.  There  he  came  to  the  end  of  the  path, 
where  the  cliff  and  the  house  had  fallen  together 
some  months  ago.  The  landslip  formed  a  huge 
mound  that  the  sea-thrift  and  the  bramble  had 
fastened  on  already,  and  would  soon  completely 
cover;  and  it  was  easy  here  to  pick  a  way  right 
down  to  the  shore.  At  least,  it  would  have  been 
easy  for  anyone  used  to  country  walks  and  rough 
ground.  But  Mr.  Gammage  soon  found  himself 
in  an  awkward  place.  He  had  come  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  landslip,  where  the  sea  had  undermined 
it,  and  as  he  stood  there  wondering  in  what  way 
he  could  reach  the  shore  the  grass-grown  earth 
supporting  him  gave  way,  and  he  fell  headlong 
on  the  sand,  with  a  crash  of  soil  and  rock  about 
him,  just  as  one  winter  night  the  old  Blois  house 


52  THE  KINSMAN 

had  fallen  with  a  greater  crash  and  a  com- 
pleter  ruin. 

Mr.  Gammage  was  not  hurt  —  only  dazed  for 
a  moment  —  so  dazed  that  as  he  picked  himself 
up  and  saw  a  half-dressed  man  come  towards  him 
he  rubbed  his  eyes  to  rub  away  the  terror  that 
overcame  him.  He  thought  the  shock  of  the  fall 
had  affected  his  brain.  He  did  not  know  what  to 
think.  He  leaned  against  the  cliff  and  stared  and 
shivered  while  he  himself,  as  he  saw  himself  day  by 
day  in  the  glass,  came  towards  him,  too  solid  for 
an  apparition,  too  impossibly  like  for  anything  else. 

"It's  all  this  worry,"  thought  poor  Mr.  Gam- 
mage.  "My  brain's  turned,  and  no  wonder." 

"Keep off,"  he  shrieked,  and  he  put  his  hands  be- 
fore his  eyes  and  tried  to  wriggle  closer  to  the  cliff ; 
but  in  spite  of  his  panic  he  wondered  why  his  ghost, 
if  this  was  his  ghost,  appeared  without  a  coat, 
and  in  trousers  of  a  superior  make  and  pattern. 

The  figure  continued  to  advance. 

"I  saw  you  fall,"  it  said  in  a  pleasant  voice. 
"Have  you  hurt  yourself?" 

Mr.  Gammage  took  his  hands  from  his  face  and 
saw  the  stranger  blanch  and  check  at  sight  of  him. 
The  sun  had  been  in  the  young  man's  face  as  he 
came  forward,  and  he  had  not  seen  Mr.  Gammage 
clearly  until  now. 


THE  KINSMAN  53 

"We  have  met  ourselves/'  he  said.  "I  always 
wondered  what  the  people  in  the  picture  felt  like. 
Now  I  know." 

"I  wish  I  had  two  penn'orth  of  brandy,"  said 
Mr.  Gammage. 

The  two  men  gazed  at  each  other,  fascinated. 
They  were  the  same  height,  the  same  make,  the 
same  colour ;  feature  for  feature,  their  faces  were 
bewilderingly  alike.  The  stranger's  eyes  were 
alive,  and  the  self-made  lines  about  his  mouth,  the 
lines  that  give  character,  gave  him  strength  and 
refinement.  But  at  first  sight  these  subtle  differ- 
ences were  not  so  apparent  as  the  extraordinary 
and  unaccountable  resemblance. 

"I  was  never  told  of  a  long-lost  twin  brother," 
murmured  the  stranger. 

"I  never  had  a  brother  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage. 

"My  name  is  Roger  Blois,"  said  the  stranger. 

Mr.  Gammage  allowed  his  lower  jaw  to  drop  and 
his  eyes  to  grow  round  with  astonishment. 

"I  hope  I  never  do  that,"  thought  the  other 
man,  as  he  watched  him. 

"My  grandfather  was  Peter  Blois,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage. 

"Then  we  must  be  second  cousins,"  said  Roger. 


CHAPTER  V 

grandfather  had  a  brother.  He  was 
Roger  Blois.  They  went  to  Orstralia  together 
more  than  fifty  years  ago,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"Yes,"  said  Roger,  "mine  stayed  out  there 
and  yours  came  back  to  the  old  country." 

"Worse  luck,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

The  two  men  sat  down  together,  and  though 
they  had  only  been  in  each  other's  company  for 
a  few  minutes,  their  voices,  their  movements,  and 
even  their  clothes  said  much  their  tongues  would 
never  say  about  the  years  that  brought  them,  like 
and  unlike,  to  this  encounter.  Roger  recognised 
his  cousin's  cockney  twang,  for  it  was  like  the 
twang  of  the  uneducated  Australian ;  he  saw,  too, 
that  Mr.  Gammage's  clothes  were  shoddy  and  his 
manner  subtly  common.  He  did  not  mean  to  let 
these  discoveries  prejudice  him,  but  he  could  no 
more  help  making  them  than  he  could  help  per- 
ceiving the  sea. 

"You  don't  live  here?"  he  said. 

54 


THE   KINSMAN  55 

"I  live  in  London.  At  least  I  work  in  London 
and  sleep  in  a  suburb,  like  most  of  us." 

Roger  tried  to  piece  together  scraps  of  talk 
about  this  man's  grandfather,  heard  years  ago 
and  half  forgotten.  He  knew  that  Peter 
Blois  had  gone  to  the  dogs  and  made  an 
ill-assorted  marriage  when  he  got  there,  but 
he  had  not  known  there  were  children  of  the 
marriage. 

11  Your  grandfather  lived  about  here,  didn't  he?" 
he  began  tentatively ;  "I  suppose  his  children  —  " 

" Never  had  but  one  —  my  mother,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage. 

"Then  your  name  isn't  Blois?" 

"My  name  is  Gammage  — 'Erbert  Gammage. 
My  father  was  a  Londoner,  and  a  clerk  like  me. 
He  came  down  for  a  holiday,  same  as  I  have  now, 
and  met  my  mother  and  married  her.  She  was 
an  only  child.  So  am  I." 

"Are  you  making  a  long  stay  here  now?" 

"Goin'  back  to-day  by  the  five  o'clock  excur- 
sion —  unless  anything  turns  up.  Where  are 

you?" 

"In  Rockmouth,  at  the  Swan.  I  only  arrived 
last  night  on  the  Electric.  I  thought  I'd  have  a 
look  at  the  old  Blois  house  before  going  on." 


56  THE  KINSMAN 

"Funny,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "I'm  here  on 
the  same  errand.  We've  come  a  long  way  for 
nothing." 

"Well,  we  have  found  each  other,"  said  Roger. 

Mr.  Gammage  was  picking  up  little  stones  and 
throwing  them  towards  the  sea.  He  turned  with 
one  poised  in  his  hand  and  looked  at  his  cousin. 

"It  is  a  rum  start,"  he  said.  "I  don't  believe 
our  own  mothers  would  have  known  us  apart  — 
until  we  opened  our  mouths." 

"My  parents  are  dead,"  said  Roger. 

"So  are  mine,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  He  stared 
gloomily  at  the  sea,  threw  the  stone  in  his  hand 
towards  it,  and  picked  up  another.  He  did  not 
throw  well. 

"I'm  going  on  to  stay  with  Colonel  Blois  at 
Greymarsh,"  said  Roger.  "He  is  the  last  of  his 
family,  it  seems  —  the  last  male,  that  is." 

"I've  seen  his  name  in  the  papers,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage.  "He  has  an  only  daughter,  called 
Pamela.  Her  portrait  was  in  The  Smart  World 
not  so  long  ago.  I  bought  it,  as  she  was  a  connec- 
tion. She's  a  daisy,  I  should  say,  judging  by  that. 
Are  you  going  to  live  in  England  now?" 

"Yes,"  said  Roger. 

"Wish  I  could  get  out  of   it  —  the  sooner  the 


THE  KINSMAN  57 

better.  I  suppose  your  grandfather  was  luckier 
than  mine." 

"Yes,  he  prospered/'  said  Roger,  speaking  in 
this  temperate  way  of  the  considerable  fortune 
amassed  by  his  grandfather  and  handed  on  with 
increase  to  him. 

"When  I  saw  you  come  across  the  sand  in  your 
shirt  sleeves,  I  thought  I'd  gone  dotty.  Were 
you  just  going  to  bathe?" 

"Yes,  I  want  to  swim." 

"They  say  it's  dangerous  over  there — near 
those  pointed  rocks.  Coffin  Rock  they  call  the 
big  one." 

"I'm  a  good  swimmer.     Are  you?" 

"Branch  of  my  education  that  was  neglected," 
said  Mr.  Gammage,  trying  to  speak  cheerfully. 
He  had  got  tired  of  his  stones,  and  was  now  biting 
a  blade  of  grass.  The  shock  of  his  fall  and  the  ex- 
citement of  meeting  his  cousin  had  driven  his 
troubles  from  his  mind  for  the  moment,  but  now 
the  weight  of  them  began  to  oppress  him  again. 

"I  suppose  you  can  ride  and  shoot  and  do 
everything?"  he  said  to  Roger.  "Seen  a  lot, 
haven't  you  ?  Lived  a  man's  life  out  there.  Not 
like  me  —  sitting  at  a  blighted  desk  all  day 
in  a  blighted  office.  Plenty  of  kicks,  precious 


58  THE  KINSMAN 

few  halfpence,  and  the  cemetery  when  you've 
finished.  I'd  be  a  dog  any  day  sooner  than  a 
London  clerk." 

Roger  had  pulled  his  coat  towards  him  and 
taken  his  tobacco  pouch  from  it.  He  offered 
this  now  to  Mr.  Gammage  and  watched  him  fill  a 
pipe  with  a  quick  nervous  pressure  of  his  fin- 
gers that  showed  inward  excitement.  He  ob- 
served, too,  that  the  clerk's  hands  were  not 
well  kept,  but  that  they  were  hands  unused  to 
outdoor  work. 

"We  must  talk  it  over,"  he  said.  "I  am  going 
on  by  the  three  o'clock  express.  Will  you  dine 
with  me  to-morrow  night  at  eight?" 

"I'd  like  to,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  hesitatingly. 

"I  shall  be  at  the  Metropole." 

"Don't  see  how  I  can,  then." 

"Why  not?" 

"Got  no  dress  clothes." 

"That  doesn't  matter,"  said  Roger.  "I  won't 
dress  either.  I  will  expect  you,  then,  at  eight." 

Mr.  Gammage  felt  that  for  the  present  the  inter- 
view was  ended.  He  got  up. 

"If  I  want  that  swim,  I  must  have  it,"  said 
Roger.  "I've  ordered  lunch  for  one." 

"It's  twelve  now,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  looking 


THE  KINSMAN  59 

at  his  watch  and  then  beginning  the  ascent  of  the 
cliff. 

At  first  he  felt  cheerful  and  excited.  If  Roger 
Blois  would  pay  his  passage  to  Australia,  Mr. 
Gammage  could  snap  his  fingers  at  the  London 
office  and  Mr.  Angelo.  He  liked  the  prospect,  but 
he  did  not  want  a  hard  struggle  for  life  when  he 
got  there.  He  had  heard  stories  of  men  going  out 
there  and  being  badly  buffeted  about,  reduced  to 
beggary,  glad  of  rough  fare,  and  forced  to  hard 
toil.  These  stories  buzzed  through  his  brain  now 
and  sapped  his  hopes.  He  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  wanted  to  be  a  traveller;  not  a  Stanley 
or  a  Livingstone,  of  course,  but  one  who  drives 
about  in  a  brougham  full  of  little  cardboard  boxes. 
It  did  not  strike  him  that  the  men  entrusted  with 
this  comfortable  job  had  qualifications  he  had 
never  tried  to  acquire  himself.  But  he  wondered 
whether  Roger  could  help  him  to  a  berth  of  this 
kind  or  would  maintain  him  till  one  " turned  up." 
For  Mr.  Gammage  was  one  of  those  people  who 
know  what  they  want  and  blame  the  stars  because 
they  don't  get  it.  They  never  blame  themselves. 

But  even  a  sensational  description  of  Roger  and 
the  announcement  of  his  own  departure  would 
hardly  deaden  the  effect  of  Julia's  story  told  as  she 


60  THE  KINSMAN 

was  bound  to  tell  it  directly  she  arrived  at  Barnes. 
That  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  awaited  him  at  the 
end  of  the  day,  and  the  thought  of  it  pursued  Mr. 
Gammage  with  the  increasing  misery  of  a  night- 
mare. When  the  cliff  path  took  him  to  a  point 
from  which  he  could  see  the  Coffin  Rock,  he  turned 
and  looked  at  it,  seeking  for  his  cousin's  head  in 
the  water,  and  after  a  time  finding  it  some  distance 
out  from  the  shore.  He  tried  to  draw  a  little  cheer- 
fulness from  the  sight  of  the  man  who  might  help 
him,  and  as  if  he  would  close  one  unpleasant 
chapter  then  and  there  he  took  Mr.  Salter's 
letter  from  his  pocket,  glanced  at  it  again,  tore 
it  to  pieces,  and  allowed  the  pieces  to  scatter 
in  the  breeze.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  would  not  return  to  the  office  at  all  if  he  could 
help  it,  and  assuredly  not  until  after  his  interview 
with  Roger  Blois. 

The  streets  of  Rockmouth  were  fuller  than  they 
had  been  yesterday,  when  most  people  were  at  the 
fair.  They  had  a  busier  aspect,  the  shops  were 
all  open,  and  there  was  a  knot  of  people  at  the 
door  of  the  Swan,  the  chief  hotel  of  the  town. 
As  he  passed  it  someone  who  looked  like  the  land- 
lord, and  was  just  going  up  the  front  steps,  caught 
sight  of  Mr.  Gammage  and  touched  his  hat.  For 


THE  KINSMAN  61 

a  moment  the  clerk  was  puzzled,  and  then  with  a 
thrill  of  pleasure  he  realised  that  he  had  been  mis- 
taken for  his  cousin.  This  little  incident  made 
so  strong  an  appeal  to  him  that  on  his  return 
from  the  Post  Office  he  stopped  at  a  hairdresser's 
and  had  his  hair  cut;  for  he  had  noticed  that 
Roger  wore  his  clipped  short.  When  the  hair- 
dresser had  finished,  the  resemblance  was  certainly 
amazing.  Nearly  three  days  of  strong  sea  air 
and  sunshine  had  given  Mr.  Gammage  the  tan  a 
sea  voyage  had  given  his  cousin,  and  as  he  looked 
in  the  glass  he  hoped  that  time  and  good  luck 
would  bring  him  Roger's  air  of  prosperity. 

He  walked  slowly  away  from  the  town  and  took 
the  cliff  path  again,  expecting  every  moment  to 
meet  Roger  Blois  there.  He  met  no  one,  however, 
but  a  couple  of  children,  and  when  he  asked  them 
if  a  gentleman  had  passed  them,  they  stared  and 
could  not  be  persuaded  to  speak.  He  felt  sure 
his  cousin  would  not  walk  back  by  the  highroad, 
which  was  dull  and  dusty  and  some  way  inland ; 
and  he  did  not  think  he  could  have  missed  him 
on  the  path.  So  when  he  got  to  the  old  Blois 
house  again  he  sat  down,  waiting  for  Roger  to 
appear.  For  if  they  met  again,  who  could  tell? 
Some  word  might  be  spoken  that  "would  help 


62  THE  KINSMAN 

Mr.  Gammage  more  promptly  than  an  interview 
postponed  till  to-morrow  night.  The  interven- 
ing hours  hung  heavy  with  trouble  in  front  of  him 
and  he  felt  ready  to  seize  at  any  way  of  escape. 
He  had  not  been  persistent  enough  this  morning, 
he  had  not  confessed  how  urgent  was  his  need. 
While  he  waited  he  thought  of  all  he  might 
have  said  and  would  say  now.  But  Roger  did 
not  come. 

When  Mr.  Gammage  looked  at  his  watch  it 
was  twenty  to  two,  more  than  an  hour  and  a  half 
since  he  had  parted  from  his  cousin.  He  began 
to  feel  hungry,  and  to  remember  that  Julia  had 
said  they  dined  at  half-past  twelve,  but  that  he 
could  have  a  snack  at  any  time.  He  got  up  and 
walked  about  a  hundred  yards  towards  the  farm. 
Then  he  stopped  short,  his  eyes  watching  the  sea, 
his  thoughts  busy.  He  might  have  missed  Roger 
in  the  streets  of  Rockmouth,  but  it  was  not  likely. 
He  reckoned  that  his  kinsman  should  have  arrived 
there  just  as  he  left  the  hairdresser's  shop.  The 
more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  anxious  he  felt 
to  see  him  again,  and  to  make  more  of  the  second 
encounter  than  he  had  done  of  the  first.  Even 
the  loan  of  five  pounds  would  enable  Mr.  Gam- 
mage to  repay  Florrie  and  leave  the  house  with 


THE  KINSMAN  63 

some  shreds  of  self-respect.  What  would  five 
pounds  be  to  a  cousin  who  could  afford  to  stay 
at  the  Metropole?  The  thought  of  the  note, 
crisp  and  crackling  in  his  pocket,  spurred  Mr. 
Gammage  to  further  effort.  He  turned  back 
and  began  to  descend  the  cliff  again.  If  this  failed, 
he  thought  he  would  walk  straight  back  to  Rock- 
mouth  and  find  Roger  at  the  Swan.  When  he 
came  to  the  ragged  edge  of  the  landslip  where  he 
had  fallen  that  morning,  he  went  very  cautiously, 
trying  it  step  by  step  and  jumping  from  a  firm 
bit  of  rock  to  the  bottom.  He  arrived  safely 
on  the  shore  this  time,  and  stood  there  shading 
his  eyes  and  searching  the  sea.  He  was  trying 
to  find  his  cousin  in  the  water  again,  because  at 
his  feet,  heaped  carelessly  together,  lay  Roger's 
clothes. 


CHAPTER  VI 

FOR  some  time  Mr.  Gammage  stood  there  shad- 
ing his  eyes  with  his  hands  and  trying  to  find  his 
cousin's  head  bobbing  in  the  sea.  But  he  could 
find  nothing  between  the  horizon  and  the  shore 
except  the  Coffin  Rock  and  the  smaller  rocks 
that  lifted  their  wicked  heads  from  the  water 
around  it.  There  was  not  a  sail  within  sight  now, 
or  the  smoke  of  a  steamer,  and  except  for  the 
lap  of  little  waves  the  silence  was  profound.  On 
either  side  of  Mr.  Gammage  great  headlands  stood 
out  to  sea,  shutting  from  him  every  homestead, 
every  tilled  field,  every  sign  of  human  life.  If 
help  was  wanted,  it  would  take  time  to  fetch,  but 
after  such  a  lapse  of  time  could  help  avail?  Mr. 
Gammage  stood  there,  searching,  doubting,  horror- 
stricken.  Then  his  knees  gave  way  beneath  him 
and  he  sank  beside  the  empty  clothes.  He  had 
read  of  death's  tragedies  without  concern,  but 
the  reality  had  never  before  unnerved  him.  He 
trembled,  he  swore  beneath  his  breath,  and  his 
first  thoughts  were  of  pity. 

64 


THE  KINSMAN  65 

"Pore  beggar!"  he  murmured.  "Pore  beggar! 
I  told  him  about  that  blasted  rock;  I  told  him 
plain." 

He  looked  dazedly  at  his  watch.  It  was  more 
than  an  hour  and  a  half  now  since  he  had  turned 
at  the  point  and  watched  his  cousin  in  the  water. 
There  could  be  no  possible  doubt  of  what  had 
happened.  Roger  Blois  had  trusted  to  his  own 
strength  and  distrusted  the  warning  of  his  town- 
bred  cousin.  He  had  ventured  too  far,  he  had 
been  sucked  in  by  the  current,  and  he  had  sunk, 
as  Julia  said  men  did,  "like  a  stone."  His  body 
might  never  be  recovered.  His  clothes  .  .  . 
Mr.  Gammage  looked  at  them.  He  took  the  coat 
into  his  hands. 

At  first  pity  and  horror  had  so  stirred  him  that 
he  had  forgotten  himself  and  the  hopes  his 
cousin's  death  dashed  to  the  ground.  There 
was  no  deliverance  for  him  now.  He  stood  where 
he  had  despairingly  stood  this  morning  before  the 
strange  encounter  with  Roger  had  given  him  a 
new  hold  on  life.  As  his  spirit  quailed  at  the 
thought  of  the  morrow  and  its  miseries  his  eye 
fell  on  a  slightly  bulging  pocket  inside  the  coat 
he  still  held  in  his  hands.  He  took  out  a  leather 
pocketbook,  opened  it,  and  saw  a  sheaf  of  Eng- 


66  THE  KINSMAN 

lish  bank  notes,  just  such  a  pile  as  his  fancy  had 
seen  when  he  made  up  his  mind  to  borrow  one 
from  his  cousin.  He  opened  them  and  folded 
them  again  and  put  them  back.  He  had  never 
stolen  anything. 

Yet  before  his  hand  had  left  the  pocket 
a  thought  flashed  into  his  mind  that  turned  him 
dizzy.  At  first  he  rejected  it  as  absurd,  beyond 
his  courage,  beyond  his  wits,  beyond  his  "  cheek," 
as  he  put  it  to  himself.  But  the  idea  returned 
persistently,  and  he  began  to  question  his  own 
scruples.  Roger  was  dead.  You  can't  harm  the 
dead.  You  can't  really  steal  from  them,  but  only 
from  their  heirs.  Roger  probably  had  no  heirs. 
He  had  said  he  was  unmarried  and  an  only  child. 
Perhaps  Mr.  Gammage  was  his  heir  at  law !  It 
really  seemed  possible  when  he  came  to  think 
of  it,  but  only  remotely  possible,  and  not  a  chance 
to  trust.  Anyhow,  he  must  not  stop  to  think.  If 
he  meant  to  act,  he  must  act  quickly.  Roger  had 
said  he  was  leaving  by  the  three  o'clock  train,  and 
Mr.  Gammage,  though  he  had  not  looked  far 
ahead,  yet  saw  that  the  sooner  he  got  out  of 
Rockmouth  the  better.  He  knew  that  no  one 
could  see  him  from  the  top  of  the  cliff.  In  great 
haste,  and  with  every  nerve  in  his  body  unhinged, 


THE   KINSMAN  67 

he  got  into  his  cousin's  clothes.  His  own  he  left 
in  a  heap  on  the  shore. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  was  in  Rockmouth,  at  the 
door  of  the  Swan.  He  went  boldly  up  the  steps 
and  into  the  hall,  which  at  that  moment  was 
empty,  but  as  he  put  his  foot  on  the  stairs  a 
waiter  came  out  of  the  dining  room  and  accosted 
him. 

" Shall  you  require  lunch,  sir?"  he  said.  "You 
ordered  it  for  one,  but  it's  going  on  for  half-past 
two  now." 

"I  know,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  speaking  as  a 
man  does  in  a  violent  hurry.  "I've  been  detained, 
and  I  have  to  catch  the  three  o'clock  train." 

"The  station  'bus  will  be  here  at  2.45,  sir." 

"Send  me  up  some  sandwiches,  will  you?  It's 
all  I've  time  for.  Oh,  and  my  bill.  I've  got  to 
hustle." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

Mr.  Gammage  hesitated  for  an  instant  and  then 
went  on.  He  had  hoped  the  man  would  mention 
the  number  of  his  room,  but  he  had  not  dared  to 
ask  him.  Now  he  was  at  the  top  of  the  stairs 
and  saw  narrow  corridors  in  three  directions.  He 
walked  straight  ahead,  hoping  for  a  chambermaid, 
but  no  one  was  about.  Then  he  gingerly  opened 


68  THE  KINSMAN 

a  door  and  found  a  cupboard  full  of  pails  and 
brushes.  As  he  shut  it  two  maids  came  giggling 
round  a  corner  and  nearly  ran  against  him. 

"Well,  I  never!"  said  one.  "Do  you  want 
anything  out  of  that  cupboard,  sir?" 

"I've  lost  my  way,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 
"These  confounded  corridors  are  all  alike." 

"You're  close  to  No.  26,  sir,"  said  the  girl,  and 
threw  back  a  door  just  opposite. 

"I've  just  ten  minutes  to  pack  and  eat  my 
lunch,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "I  wish  you'd  help 
me." 

"With  the  lunch?" 

"With  the  packing,  my  dear.  Five  bob  if  you'll 
do  it  for  me." 

He  went  into  the  room,  followed  by  the  maid 
who  had  spoken  to  him.  His  first  impression  was 
one  of  surprise.  There  were  none  of  the  big 
trunks  he  had  expected.  He  saw  a  leathern  cabin 
trunk,  some  toilet  necessaries  and  a  dressing- 
case  on  the  dressing-table,  a  few  clothes  flung 
carelessly  on  the  sofa,  and  that  was  all.  He  opened 
a  wardrobe  and  found  nothing  but  a  light  great- 
coat hanging  there.  As  he  turned  from  it  a 
waiter  came  into  the  room  with  a  tray.  Mr. 
Gammage  saw  that  his  bill  was  on  the  tray,  and 


THE  KINSMAN  69 

he  gave  it  to  the  man  with  a  five-pound  note  for 
change.  The  housemaid  had  hurriedly  left  the 
room  when  the  waiter  arrived,  but  now  she  re- 
appeared. 

"Look  sharp,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Gammage, 
"I've  only  five  minutes." 

The  girl  glanced  at  him  curiously.  He  was 
eating  with  voracity,  and  he  spoke  with  his  mouth 
full.  His  manner  was  familiar,  and  his  speech  had 
hoarse  tones  she  did  not  remember  in  the  speech 
of  the  dignified  gentleman  who  had  occupied  this 
room  last  night.  However,  the  manners  of  her 
master's  guests  were  not  her  business,  and  she 
proceeded  with  her  packing.  She  finished  the 
trunk  first,  leaving  room  at  the  top  for  the  dressing- 
case.  Then  she  collected  the  things  on  the  toilet- 
table  and  stopped  to  shake  a  slim  glass  bottle 
apparently  full  of  scent. 

"What's  this?"  she  asked. 

"I've  no  -  "  began  Mr.  Gammage,  and  stopped 
himself.  "Try  it,"  he  said  instead. 

The  girl  unscrewed  the  top  of  the  bottle,  poured 
some  of  its  contents  on  her  apron,  and  sniffed  at  it. 

"It  isn't  scent  at  all,"  she  cried  indignantly. 
"It's  doctor's  stuff  ...  it  smells  of  peppermint. 
What  do  you  use  it  for?" 


70  THE  KINSMAN 

"To  drink,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  coolly. 

"You  are  a  funny  gentleman/'  said  the  girl, 
"as  distant  as  a  duke  last  night  and  that  affable 
to-day  .  .  .  and  your  voice  sounds  different,  too, 
.  .  .  why,  when  I  came  in  about  those  collars 
.  .  .  there  now  ...  if  I  haven't  clean  forgotten 
.  .  .  what'll  you  do?" 

"What  do  you  think?"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"You'd  better  leave  your  address  and  I'll  see 
they're  sent  on." 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  mentally 
resolving  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  had  not 
looked  far  into  the  future  yet,  but  he  thought 
the  more  completely  Rockmouth  lost  sight  of  him 
the  safer  it  would  be. 

"They'll  be  five  shillings  and  postage,"  said  the 
girl. 

"Five  shillings  for  washing  a  few  collars,"  said 
Mr.  Gammage,  who  guessed  at  a  laundry  bill. 

"How  much  do  you  pay  for  a  clean  collar  where 
you  come  from?" 

"A  penny." 

"Well!  I  suppose  you  know  how  many  you 
sent." 

"You  talk  too  much,"  said  Mr.  Gammage, 
getting  up  and  locking  the  dressing-case.  His 


THE  KINSMAN  71 

own  coolness  surprised  and  pleased  him,  but  it 
was  the  coolness  of  extreme  excitement.  He 
put  half  a  sovereign  in  the  chambermaid's  hands 
and  told  her  to  pay  the  washerwoman  and  keep 
the  change.  As  he  did  so  the  waiter  appeared 
with  the  receipted  bill,  and  behind  him  came  the 
boots  for  the  luggage.  Mr.  Gammage  tipped  both 
men  and  got  out  of  the  room  without  leaving 
his  address,  which  was  what  he  meant  to  do. 
But  in  the  hall  the  landlord  intercepted  him. 

"How  many  pieces  of  heavy  luggage  had  you, 
sir?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Gammage  started  and  stared  at  the  loaded 
top  of  the  omnibus. 

"They're  all  up  there  right  enough,"  he  said 
at  a  venture,  and  tried  to  hurry  past  his  host, 
looking  at  his  watch  as  he  did  so  and  observing 
that  he  mustn't  lose  his  train. 

"Plenty  of  time,  sir,"  said  the  landlord.  "I 
just  wanted  to  know  whether  the  grey  wooden 
trunk  with  brass  nails  belongs  to  you  or  to  the 
American  gentleman  who  arrived  with  you." 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Gammage  felt  in  a  tight 
place,  but  the  real  need  of  hurry  helped  him. 

"Send  it  on,  send  it  on,"  he  spluttered;  "I  can't 
wait  for  one  trunk.  I  thought  I  saw  it  up  there." 


72  THE  KINSMAN 

"It  is  up  there,"  said  the  landlord,  "but  if  it 
doesn't  belong  to  you,  it  must  come  down." 

"Of  course  it  belongs  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage,  nipping  into  the  omnibus  and  shutting  the 
door. 

"He  didn't  seem  drunk,"  said  the  landlord,  pen- 
sively to  his  wife.  "I  hope  it's  all  right  about 
that  trunk,  because  he's  left  no  address  behind." 

"So  Mary  has  just  told  me,"  said  the  landlady, 
"and  five  dozen  collars  gone  to  the  wash  for  him. 
I  wonder  what  shape  they  are." 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Gammage  found  himself  in  the 
omnibus  with  an  elegant-looking,  middle-aged 
woman  who  had  apparently  come  to  England 
in  the  same  ship  as  his  kinsman.  She  addressed 
him  as  Mr.  Blois,  and  asked  him  how  he  had  spent 
his  morning. 

"I  went  for  a  walk,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  feeling 
very  fidgety  and  staring  as  much  as  possible  out 
of  the  window. 

"What  became  of  you  at  lunch?  I  waited 
nearly  half  an  hour  and  then  - 

"I'm  very  sorry.  I  met  a  friend  and  we  got 
talking  and  I  suppose  the  time  slipped  away." 

"I  thought  you  didn't  know  a  soul  in  England. " 

"I  don't  —  rightly  speaking.    This  man  turned 


THE  KINSMAN  73 

up  unexpectedly  —  I  was  a  surprise  to  him  and 
he  was  a  surprise  to  me." 

"Did  you  find  the  old  Blois  house?" 
"There's  nothing  to  find  but  a  heap  of  rubbish," 
said  Mr.  Gammage,  sulkily. 

The  lady  could  not  understand  what  had  hap- 
pened to  her  fellow-traveller.  The  jolt  and  rum- 
ble of  the  omnibus  half  smothered  his  voice,  but 
what  she  heard  she  disliked.  His  manner  was 
odd,  too,  both  hostile  and  uneasy.  She  had  just 
posted  a  letter  home  in  which  she  spoke  of  him 
with  the  warmest  admiration,  and  she  felt  quite 
distressed  to  think  that  her  daughter  and  her  friends 
would  have  some  reason  soon  to  wonder  at  her 
judgment.  She  was  a  Mrs.  Bradwardine,  the  wife 
of  the  Rector  of  Greymarsh,  and  she  had  been 
spending  six  months  in  Australia  with  a  son  es- 
tablished there.  On  the  way  back  she  had  been 
attracted  by  the  name  of  Blois,  had  Roger  pre- 
sented to  her,  and  discovered  his  connection  with 
Colonel  Blois,  her  near  neighbour  and  her  hus- 
band's patron.  They  had  seen  a  good  deal  of 
each  other,  and  last  night  she  had  written  the 
letter  that  now  weighed  on  her  mind  like  an  in- 
discretion. However,  the  omnibus  arrived  at  the 
station  in  three  minutes,  and  she  could  only  hope. 


74  THE  KINSMAN 

as  she  descended  from  it,  that  her  unpleasant 
impression  was  transient  and  mistaken.  But  to 
her  surprise  and  vexation  the  young  man's  be- 
haviour only  strengthened  it.  He  hustled  past 
her  without  offering  any  assistance,  hailed  a 
porter,  got  hold  of  his  own  luggage,  and  even 
omitted  as  he  went  off  to  lift  his  hat. 

The  truth  is  that  Mr.  Gammage  was  getting 
flustered.  He  had  entered  in  a  hurry  on  a  game 
with  more  difficult  moves  in  it  than  he  had  fore- 
seen ;  but  he  thought  that  the  worst  would  be 
over  when  he  got  clear  of  Rockmouth.  He  care- 
fully chose  an  empty  compartment,  and  he  ar- 
rived at  Paddington  without  misadventure.  But 
as  he  was  picking  out  Roger's  trunks  on  the  plat- 
form there  he  found  himself  close  to  Mrs.  Brad- 
wardine  again,  and  she  responded  to  his  greeting 
with  a  want  of  cordiality  that  attracted  his  notice. 
He  wondered  what  he  had  done. 

"Well,  good-bye,"  she  said;  "I  suppose  I  shall 
see  you  when  you  come  to  my  neighbourhood." 

"I'm  not  making  a  long  stay  in  London,"  said 
Mr.  Gammage,  who,  like  your  true  cockney, 
hardly  realised  that  anyone  lived  anywhere  else. 

"What  has  London  to  do  with  it?"  said  Mrs. 
Bradwardine.  "I  go  home  on  Thursday." 


THE  KINSMAN  75 

"My  mistake/'  said  Mr.  Gammage,  rather 
ruffled;  "I'd  forgotten." 

The  lady  turned  away  and  spoke  to  her  porter. 
Mr.  Gammage  got  as  far  from  her  as  he  could.  He 
had  decided  to  spend  the  night  at  the  Black- 
friars'  Hotel.  The  outside  was  well  known  to 
him,  and  it  was  a  long  way  from  the  Metropole. 
His  encounter  with  Mrs.  Bradwardine  had  shown 
him  that  he  must  do  all  he  could  to  avoid  Roger's 
travelling  companions. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MR.  GAMMAGE  sat  at  dinner  with  Germans  to 
right  of  him  and  Germans  to  left  of  him.  He  had 
arrived  when  table  d'hote  was  nearly  over,  and 
ate  his  soup  while  his  neighbours  played  with 
their  dessert.  He  drank  half  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne, and  after  dinner  he  ordered  black  coffee 
and  a  shilling  cigar.  So  far  so  good.  He  was 
enjoying  himself  very  much.  These  things  were 
the  solid  fruits  of  his  daring  and  most  agreeable. 
But  he  had  not  opened  those  trunks  yet,  and  the 
champagne  had  not  done  all  he  expected  towards 
giving  him  spirit  for  the  job.  It  would  be  inter- 
esting, no  doubt,  as  interesting  as  a  safe  to  a 
burglar.  Mr.  Gammage  tried  to  see  where  this 
analogy  failed  and  not  to  see  where  it  held  good. 
He  was  jumpy  to-night,  he  told  himself,  and  no 
wonder  after  passing  such  a  day.  He  wondered 
what  Julia  was  doing  and  what  she  would  say 
if  she  could  see  him  sitting  here.  He  felt  sorry 
for  both  Julia  and  Florrie,  who  would  believe  he 
was  drowned  and  weep  for  him.  If  everything 

76 


THE  KINSMAN  77 

went  well  with  him,  he  might  some  day  venture 
back  to  Trevalla  as  Roger  Blois,  make  fresh 
acquaintance  with  Julia,  and  give  her  a  real  pearl 
necklace.  But  this  sentimental  idea  only  flashed 
through  Mr.  Gammage's  mind  while  under  the  in- 
fluence of  dinner;  it  found  no  harbourage  there. 
He  could  not  afford  to  trouble  about  Julia  or 
Florrie  or  anyone  but  himself  yet  awhile.  He 
was  engaged  in  a  hazardous  game  for  high  stakes. 
At  least  he  hoped  they  were  high.  He  got  up 
rather  hurriedly  from  a  half-finished  cup  of  coffee, 
because  he  felt  that  every  drop  of  it  was  neutraliz- 
ing the  effect  of  the  champagne.  He  must  see 
about  those  trunks. 

He  went  up  to  his  room,  turned  on  the  lights, 
and  set  to  work.  By  midnight  he  knew  all  that 
the  three  trunks  contained,  and  he  had  set  aside 
certain  letters,  photographs,  and  account  books 
to  study  at  his  leisure.  The  clothes  he  found 
delighted  him,  but  before  he  repacked  them  he 
had  to  ring  for  a  brandy  and  soda  to  steady  his 
nerves.  He  was  trembling  so  much  with  excite- 
ment that  his  fingers  were  almost  useless.  For 
cursory  as  his  investigations  were,  he  had  discov- 
ered that  his  kinsman  was  a  man  of  large  means. 
But  his  kinsman  was  dead,  poor  fellow,  and  he, 


78  THE  KINSMAN 

Herbert  Gammage,  by  his  own  daring,  stood  in 
his  shoes.  Mr.  Gammage  had  not  made  out  yet 
whether  there  was  any  legal  heir  to  Roger's  prop- 
erty. That  was  a  point  to  discover  later,  and  deal 
with  according  to  circumstances.  Mr.  Gammage 
did  not  want  to  be  a  bigger  scoundrel  than  he 
could  help,  but  he  did  not  mean  to  be  quixotic 
either.  Meanwhile  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
must  ask  at  the  Metropole  for  letters  and  tele- 
grams. There  might  be  some  messages  from 
Colonel  Blois,  for  instance.  Roger  had  said  he 
was  going  to  stay  with  him.  Mr.  Gammage  did 
not  feel  in  any  hurry  to  confront  the  Colonel, 
but  he  foresaw  that  he  might  be  driven  to  do  so. 
A  good  night's  sleep  did  much  to  increase  his 
self-confidence.  His  eyes  when  they  opened  fell 
on  a  Chippendale  wardrobe  with  glass  doors. 
His  bell  when  he  touched  it  brought  an  attentive 
chambermaid.  His  breakfast  when  he  sat  down 
to  it  was  chosen  from  a  menu  long  enough  for 
the  Lord  Mayor.  The  waiter  advised  him  that 
herrings  were  good  this  morning,  but  he  refused 
them  with  scorn.  He  might  have  had  herrings 
for  breakfast  at  Barnes.  He  ordered  a  Dover 
sole  and  merlans  grille's.  He  did  not  know  what 
merlans  meant,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 


THE  KINSMAN  79 

might  soon  run  across  to  Paris  and  pick  up  a  little 
French.  There  was  no  reason  why  the  future 
should  not  fulfil  his  dearest  day-dreams,  and  one 
of  them  used  to  begin  and  end  with  a  holiday  in 
Paris. 

He  was  rather  disappointed  when  "merlans" 
turned  out  to  be  common  whitings,  but  he  made 
a  good  breakfast  and  then  went  into  a  smoking 
room  and  looked  at  the  day's  papers.  He  looked 
most  carefully  at  those  little  paragraphs  that 
contain  news  from  the  provinces,  but  he  could  not 
find  any  allusion  to  Trevalla  or  to  a  death  by 
drowning  on  that  coast.  He  paid  his  kinsman 
the  tribute  of  a  moment's  compunction  or  regret ; 
then,  as  after  all  the  world  belongs  to  the  living 
and  the  valorous,  and  as  it  was  a  fine  June  morn- 
ing, Mr.  Gammage,  wearing  a  light  tweed  suit, 
brown  shoes,  and  a  silk  hat,  strolled  down  Fleet 
Street  and  the  Strand  towards  Charing  Cross. 
He  bought  a  rose  for  his  button-hole ;  he  bought 
a  gold-topped  cane  and  twirled  it;  he  bought  an 
expensive  cigar  and  lighted  it ;  he  looked  at  every 
man  he  passed  and  pitied  him,  for  the  men  you 
meet  in  the  Strand  at  midday  are  either  hard  at 
work  or  out  at  elbows.  He  thought  of  Mr.  Jack- 
son and  Mr.  Salter  glued  to  their  desks ;  he  thought 


80  THE  KINSMAN 

of  Florrie  at  St.  Martin's-le-Grand.  He  had  the 
grace  to  hope  she  would  not  fret  much  over  the 
news  of  his  death,  and  he  pictured  Mr.  Salter 
trying  to  console  her.  It  really  seemed  as  if  he 
might  be  doing  old  Jimmy  a  turn. 

The  day  was  so  fine,  and  his  reflections  were  so 
absorbing,  that  Mr.  Gammage  found  himself  at 
Charing  Cross  in  no  time.  With  his  cigar  still  in 
his  mouth,  he  entered  the  Metropole,  and  as  he  did 
so  a  young  man  with  a  military  set  to  his  shoulders 
caught  sight  of  him  and  went  forward  rather 
eagerly  to  meet  him. 

"  Hullo,  Blois,"  he  began,  and  then  he  checked, 
he  hardly  knew  why.  It  was  Blois,  but  had  Blois 
gone  mad  ?  His  hat,  his  cane,  his  cigar,  all  pointed 
to  it. 

"What  happened  last  night?"  he  went  on.  "I 
turned  up  right  enough,  but  you  - 

"I  didn't,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  feebly.  "Very 
sorry,  but  it  was  impossible." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  wire?" 

"I  did,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "Do  you  mean 
to  say  you  never  got  it  ?  I  wired  from  Rockmouth. 
You  see  I  missed  my  train." 

The  young  man  looked  at  Mr.  Gammage  in 
perplexity. 


THE  KINSMAN  81 

"I'm  not  making  a  mistake?7'  he  said.  "You 
areBlois?" 

"I'm  Blois  right  enough.  I've  come  for  my 
letters.  Can  you  tell  me  how  to  get  'em?" 

"You  must  ask  for  your  number  at  this  office," 
said  the  young  man,  leading  the  way.  "But 
about  that  wire?  How  did  you  address  it?" 

"Oh!  just  your  name  and  Hotel  Metropole," 
said  Mr.  Gammage,  airily.  "I'm  in  a  deuce  of  a 
hurry,  my  dear  boy.  I've  a  lady  waiting  out- 
side." 

"Why  did  you  address  your  wire  to  the  Metro- 
pole  when  you  knew  I  was  not  staying  here?" 

"Not  staying  here!     But  you  are  here." 

"I  came  ten  minutes  ago  —  to  fetch  you." 

"Look  here,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  confidentially, 
"I've  had  a  lot  of  bother  since  yesterday,  and  all 
my  little  engagements  have  gone  clean  out  of 
my  'ed.  Let  me  have  your  visiting  card  with 
your  address  on  it,  and  I'll  send  you  another  wire 
this  afternoon." 

Captain  Lascelles,  like  everyone  else,  had  heard 
stories  of  niggers  who  came  over  here  and  were 
civilised,  but  relapsed  directly  they  were  amongst 
niggers  again.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  something 
of  the  kind  had  happened  here,  and  that  the 


82  THE  KINSMAN 

gentleman  of  the  Electric  became  a  low-bred 
cockney  the  moment  he  arrived  in  London.  Yet 
in  Roger's  case  it  could  not  be  a  relapse  or  a  re- 
version. Captain  Lascelles  grew  more  and  more 
bewildered  as  he  stood  near  the  office  while  Mr. 
Gammage  made  inquiries,  and  it  was  in  an  unde- 
cided frame  of  mind  that  he  went  on  with  him  to  the 
bureau  where  letters  were  distributed.  He  had  asked 
Roger  Blois  and  two  other  men  to  lunch  at  his  club, 
and  he  was  both  relieved  and  annoyed  to  find  that 
the  arrangement  was  apparently  superseded. 

There  was  one  letter  for  Mr.  Blois  which  Mr. 
Gammage  opened  immediately  and  read.  It  was 
written  from  the  Manor  House,  Greymarsh,  and 
said  that  unless  Mr.  Blois  wired  to  the  contrary 
he  would  be  met  at  the  station  on  Wednesday 
evening  at  seven.  It  was  signed  Anthony  Blois. 

"Wednesday  evening  at  seven,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage, looking  up.  "Excuse  me.  I've  got  to 
hump  myself.  So  long." 

"There  is  no  telegram  here  for  me,"  said  Cap- 
tain Lascelles. 

Mr.  Gammage  turned  from  the  vanishing  cor- 
diality of  this  young  man  only  to  collide  with  the 
lady  who  had  been  with  him  in  the  station  omni- 
bus yesterday.  Her  glance  just  recognised  him 


THE  KINSMAN  83 

and  passed  with  increasing  friendliness  to  Captain 
Lascelles. 

"I  want  a  word  with  you,  Jack,  before  you  go 
off  with  Mr.  Blois,"  she  said. 

It  became  a  question  of  time  and  distance.  Mr. 
Gammage  was  nearer  the  door  than  the  two  who 
were  now  shaking  hands  with  each  other.  He 
bolted  like  a  rabbit,  tore  through  the  hall,  jumped 
into  a  hansom,  and  only  breathed  again  when  the 
horse's  head  turned  citywards.  Meanwhile,  Mrs. 
Bradwardine  and  Jack  Lascelles,  her  nephew, 
looked  at  each  other. 

"I  thought  that  you  and  Mr.  Blois  had  some 
engagement  together  this  morning,"  she  said. 

"We  were  going  to  my  tailor's  and  then  to 
lunch  at  my  club,"  said  Jack.  "I  suppose  he  has 
forgotten." 

"What  has  happened  to  the  man?" 

"I  came  to  dine  with  him  last  night,  but  he 
never  turned  up.  He  says  he  wired  to  me  here, 
but  there  is  no  wire.  Besides,  he  knew  I  was  at 
Grosvenor  Gardens." 

"I  can't  understand  it,"  said  Mrs.  Bradwardine, 
and  therewith  changed  the  subject.  Jack  Las- 
celles was  on  his  way  to  Ireland,  and  she  wanted 
to  talk  of  family  affairs  to  him. 


84  THE  KINSMAN 

Mr.  Gammage  stopped  his  hansom  at  a  book- 
seller's shop  in  the  Strand  and  asked  for  "books 
about  Australia."  It  had  occurred  to  him  that  he 
must  at  once  study  the  geography,  the  scenery, 
and  the  customs  of  the  country  from  which,  as 
Roger  Blois,  he  came.  He  found  on  looking  into 
Bradshaw  that  his  train  left  King's  Cross  at  half- 
past  two,  so  he  could  count  on  four  hours  in  which 
to  get  up  his  past  history  and  surroundings. 
Roger's  private  papers  and  photographs  would 
help  him,  but  so  would  some  good  illustrated  books. 
When  he  reached  his  hotel  he  put  those  he  had 
bought  into  the  trunk  with  his  dressing-case,  and 
then  went  downstairs  to  lunch.  He  chose  a  seat 
in  a  comfortable  but  badly-lighted  corner,  where 
his  face  could  only  be  seen  in  deep  shadow.  Never- 
theless, a  little  man  who  sat  with  a  friend  at  a 
table  close  by  started  violently  at  sight  of  him, 
stared  hard,  went  on  with  his  meal,  stared  hard 
again,  and  at  last  put  down  his  knife  and 
fork. 

"Eisenstein,"  he  said  to  his  friend,  "do  you  see 
a  young  man  sitting  in  that  corner?" 

Eisenstein  looked  at  Mr.  Gammage. 

"Of  course  I  see  him,"  he  said. 

"What  is  he  like?" 


THE  KINSMAN  85 

"Like?  Like  anyone  else.  What  are  you 
playing  at,  Angelo?" 

"He  is  the  living  image  of  that  poor  young 
fool  who  is  drowned/'  said  Mr.  Angelo,  raising  his 
voice  so  that  it  easily  reached  his  clerk's  ears. 

Mr.  Gammage  went  on  with  his  lunch.  He  had 
not  seen  Mr.  Angelo  when  he  first  sat  down,  but 
he  was  not  much  surprised  to  encounter  him  here. 
He  knew  that  his  late  chief  often  came  to  this 
hotel  for  his  midday  meal.  He  got  as  far  back 
as  he  could  into  his  corner,  took  up  a  newspaper 
lying  on  the  table,  and  pretended  to  read  and  eat 
at  the  same  time.  Otherwise,  as  he  listened  his 
eyes  might  have  wandered  in  embarrassment  and 
self-betrayal  towards  Mr.  Angelo. 

"Who  is  drowned?"  Mr.  Eisenstein  was  saying. 
"What's  the  matter,  Angelo?" 

"I've  been  upset.  I  had  a  young  man  in  my 
office  who  was  no  good  at  all,  and  he  is  drowned." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  why  that  need  upset  you," 
said  Mr.  Eisenstein. 

Mr.  Angelo  sighed. 

"He  was  a  silly  ass  and  slack  and  lazy.  Still, 
I  did  not  wish  him  to  drown  himself." 

"Oh,  he  drowned  himself,  did  he?     Where?" 

"A  long  way  from  here.     His  friends  found  his 


86  THE   KINSMAN 

clothes  and  wired  at  once.  I  was  told  this  morn- 
ing by  one  of  his  fellow-clerks.  You  see  he 
had  just  cost  me  a  hundred  pounds  through  his 
stupidity." 

"You'll  get  over  his  loss  in  time,"  said  Mr. 
Eisenstein. 

"I  don't  like  having  his  death  laid  at  my  door," 
said  Mr.  Angelo. 

He  glanced  repeatedly  at  Mr.  Gammage  while 
he  talked  and  tried  to  convince  himself  that  the 
resemblance  was  incomplete  and  accidental.  He 
observed  that  the  stranger  wore  better  clothes 
than  his  clerk  had  done,  that  his  hair  was  cut 
shorter,  and  that  he  apparently  took  no  inter- 
est in  what  his  neighbours  were  saying. 

"Why  should  his  death  lie  at  your  door?" 
asked  Mr.  Eisenstein. 

"I  was  furious  with  him,  and  I  practically  told 
him  to  go  elsewhere." 

"Well,  he's  done  it.  Saves  you  giving  him  a 
character." 

"I  should  have  lied  if  I  had  spoken  well  of  him 
in  any  way,"  said  Mr.  Angelo,  mournfully. 

"I  hate  the  rubbish  of  the  world,"  said  Mr. 
Eisenstein.  "I  should  like  to  drown  it  wholesale." 

With  this  humane  sentiment  the  conversation, 


THE  KINSMAN  87 

as  far  as  it  concerned  Mr.  Gammage,  came  to  an 
end.  He  sat  there,  hot  and  angry,  wishing  he  could 
take  that  heavy  water  bottle  and  fling  it  at  Mr. 
Eisenstein's  hard,  ugly  head.  But  the  news  he 
had  heard  was  of  consummate  interest  and  well 
worth  the  strain  of  the  encounter.  His  kinsman 
was  drowned  beyond  all  doubt,  and  Herbert 
Gammage  was  mourned  for  dead  at  Barnes  and 
at  Trevalla. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

COLONEL  BLOIS  had  been  left  a  widower  at 
Pamela's  birth,  and  she  was  his  only  child.  He 
ought  to  have  idolised  her.  Perhaps  he  did  in 
his  own  way,  but  he  was  a  hot-tempered  man, 
and  his  girl  resembled  him.  Five  years  ago  he 
had  married  again,  chiefly,  as  he  owned  himself, 
because  he  wanted  someone  to  manage  Pamela. 
But  the  result  was  not  all  that  he  wished  or 
expected.  Pamela  managed  her  stepmother. 
From  the  first  she  took  that  gentle  lady  under 
her  protection,  and  stood  up  for  her  rights  when 
Mrs.  Blois  would  have  gladly  yielded  them. 

"I  would  rather  give  it  up  than  vex  your  father, 
my  dear,"  Mrs.  Blois  would  say. 

"And  I  would  rather  vex  my  father  than  see 
you  give  it  up,"  Pamela  would  answer.  Then 
there  would  be  a  battle  royal  between  the  man  and 
the  girl,  and  as  often  as  not  the  girl  would  get  her 
way.  She  did  not  know  what  fear  was;  at  this 
time  of  her  life  she  did  not  know  what  forbear- 
ance was.  Until  her  stepmother  came  she  had 

88 


THE  KINSMAN  89 

run  rather  wild,  with  a  governess  who  could  not 
control  her  and  a  set  of  old  servants  who  spoiled 
her.  She  had  no  near  relatives  except  an  aunt, 
who  lived  at  Wimbledon  with  a  delicate  husband 
and  could  not  pay  her  harum-scarum  niece  much 
attention.  The  girl  had  lived  as  much  out  of 
doors  as  a  boy  and  could  be  as  blunt  as  a  boy. 
She  had  learned  to  manage  a  horse  and  speak  the 
truth,  and  when  at  the  age  of  fifteen  she  was  sent 
to  school  she  found  it  hard  to  sit  indoors  and 
apply  herself  to  the  silly  arts  still  considered  part 
of  a  girl's  education.  But  she  stayed  at  school 
three  years,  and  came  home  to  all  appearance  a 
young  lady  like  any  other.  At  least  her  father 
felt  satisfied  when  he  saw  her  Pompadour  coiffure 
and  her  demure  manner.  She  did  not  look  like 
the  tomboy  she  used  to  be.  But  before  she  had 
been  at  home  six  weeks  he  told  his  wife  that  the 
girl,  for  all  her  airs,  was  still  a  little  vixen. 

"A.  vixen!  Pamela!  Oh,  my  dear,  what  an 
expression!"  said  the  second  Mrs.  Blois. 

"She  has  just  stamped  both  her  feet  at  me," 
said  the  Colonel,  "first  one  and  then  the  other." 

"Why  did  she  do  that?"  said  the  second  Mrs. 
Blois,  with  the  surprise  of  a  woman  who  has  never 
wanted  to  stamp  her  feet  at  anybody. 


90  THE  KINSMAN 

"To  relieve  her  feelings,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
Colonel;  "she  wants  to  drive  the  new  mare,  and 
I  refuse  to  allow  it." 

"But  the  dear  child  is  so  fond  of  driving,"  said 
Mrs.  Blois,  and  her  tone,  though  submissive,  sug- 
gested that  the  Colonel  was  rather  unkind.  This 
made  him  want  to  stamp  his  feet,  first  one  and 
then  the  other. 

"Do  you  wish  the  dear  child  to  break  her  neck 
or  the  mare's  knees?"  he  asked. 

"Which  event  should  you  mind  most,  Dad?" 
said  the  vixen,  coming  into  the  room  with  the 
air  of  an  unruffled  saint.  She  sat  down  beside 
her  stepmother,  picked  up  that  lady's  knitting, 
found,  as  usual,  that  several  stitches  were  dropped, 
and  set  herself  with  twinkling  fingers  to  pick  them 
up  again.  Mrs.  Blois  looked  at  the  girl  with 
admiring  affection. 

"There  is  nothing  Pamela  cannot  do  when  she 
sets  her  mind  on  it,"  she  said. 

"Then  I  wish  she  would  set  her  mind  on  be- 
having properly,"  said  the  Colonel,  as  he  marched 
out  of  the  room. 

"Dad's  annoyed,"  said  Pamela. 

"You  can  hardly  wonder  at  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Blois. 


THE  KINSMAN  91 

"I  don't/'  said  Pamela. 

"A  man  like  your  father,  who  commanded  a 
cavalry  regiment  with  conspicuous  success — ' 

"I  believe  he  thought  he  was  back  there  this 
morning.  His  language — " 

"  Pamela!" 

"I'm  not  going  to  repeat  it.  Poor  Dad!  I 
wish  I'd  been  a  boy." 

"But  as  you're  not  one,"  said  Mrs.  Blois,  seizing 
her  opportunity,  "why  not  make  up  your  mind  to 
it  and  behave  in  the  gentle  feminine  way  men 
admire  in  women?" 

The  girl's  low  laugh  rippled  through  the  room, 
and  in  spite  of  herself  the  older  woman 
smiled. 

"You're  a  naughty  girl,  though,  Pamela,  to 
stamp  your  feet  at  your  father,"  she  went  on. 
"I  never  did  such  a  thing  when  I  was  young." 

The  girl  laughed  again  and  looked  at  her  step- 
mother. Mrs.  Blois  was  the  meek,  plain  daughter 
of  a  meek,  plain  country  parson,  and  it  was  unim- 
aginable that  she  should  ever  have  diverged  for  an 
instant  from  the  paths  of  propriety  and  obedience. 

"I  never  wanted  to  drive,"  said  Mrs.  Blois; 
"we  had  a  donkey  cart,  but — " 

"Dad's  never  annoyed  with  me  for  more  than 


92  THE  KINSMAN 

five  minutes,"  interrupted  Pamela,  "and  I  always 
forgive  him  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  But  we  can't 
forgive  the  heir.  That  is  why  we  are  both  so 
irritable.  You  are  sure  to  find  us  more  trying 
than  usual  the  next  few  days." 

Pamela  must  have  had  streaks  of  patience  in 
her  impatient  disposition,  or  she  could  not  have 
borne  as  good-temperedly  as  she  did  with  her 
stepmother.  Mrs.  Blois  was  one  of  those  exas- 
perating people  who  take  everything  literally  and 
want  it  explained. 

"But  you  haven't  even  seen  the  young  man," 
she  said  now.  "What  has  he  done  that  you  can't 
forgive?" 

"He  is  the  heir." 

"How  can  you  blame  him  for  that?" 

"We  do  —  bitterly." 

"I  call  that  a  little  unreasonable,"  said  Mrs. 
Blois,  after  prolonged  meditation. 

"Dad  and  I  are  unreasonable.     We  like  to  be." 

"But  really,  Pamela,  this  young  man  can't 
help  your  father  having  no  son  to  succeed  him. 
Of  course,  if  you  had  been  a  boy,  things  would  have 
been  different." 

"I  suppose  that  is  so,"  said  Pamela,  solemnly. 

The  knitting  was  set  right  now  and  ready  for 


THE  KINSMAN  93 

Mrs.  Blois  to  tangle  again.  The  girl  got  up  as  she 
replaced  the  work  in  her  stepmother's  hands.  She 
looked  out  of  the  great  bay  windows,  across  the 
terrace  and  the  garden,  at  the  woods  of  Grey- 
marsh  and  the  sea  beyond  them.  Wherever  she 
saw  land  she  saw  her  father's  property  —  property 
that  in  her  opinion  ought  to  pass  to  the  child  of  his 
body  and  not  to  the  stranger  expected  here  to-day. 

"As  if  a  girl  was  not  as  good  as  a  boy  —  and 
better/7  she  said;  "the  law  is  a  back  number." 

"After  all,  we  belong  to  the  weaker  sex,"  said 
Mrs.  Blois. 

"Is  that  a  reason  why  the  strong  ones  should 
defraud  us?"  asked  the  girl,  fiercely.  "I  love  this 
place.  It  belongs  to  Dad.  Some  day  it  ought 
to  belong  to  me  —  and  it  won't." 

As  she  spoke  her  eyes  shifted  from  the  window 
to  her  stepmother's  face,  and  she  saw  Mrs.  Blois 
smile  slightly  at  her  knitting. 

"Of  course,  I  know  what  you  and  Dad  have  in 
mind,"  she  said. 

"In  mind?"  echoed  Mrs.  Blois. 

"A  baby  would  know.  It  makes  me  hopping 
mad  to  think  of  it." 

"My  dear  —  those  dreadful  American  expres- 
sions!" 


94  THE  KINSMAN 

"Tell  you  what  I  mean,  don't  they?  I  won't 
be  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  my  elders.  Dad  ought 
to  have  lived  in  the  twelfth  century." 

"Pamela!" 

"And  worn  chain  armour." 

"What  for?" 

"Then  he  could  have  stuffed  me  into  a  convent." 

Mrs.  Blois  said  in  an  exhausted  way  that  she 
wanted  her  beef-tea  and  wished  Pamela  to  ring  for 
it.  She  could  not  see  any  connection  between 
chain  armour  and  convents,  and,  in  fact,  she  did 
not  know  what  Pamela  was  talking  about.  But 
she  would  like  to  shut  her  eyes  till  the  beef-tea 
came.  Mrs.  Blois  considered  herself  a  strictly 
truthful  woman,  and  she  would  probably  have 
gone  to  the  stake  rather  than  say  she  had  a  head- 
ache when  she  had  not.  But  she  wriggled  away 
from  Pamela's  attack  without  a  suspicion  that  her 
retreat  was  disingenuous.  The  girl  understood, 
glanced  mirthfully  at  the  closed  eyes  of  her  step- 
mother, rang  the  bell,  and  went  out  of  the  room. 
She  spent  the  rest  of  the  morning  on  the  golf  links 
and  sat  down  to  lunch  with  an  appetite. 

"Mrs.  Bradwardine  comes  back  to-morrow," 
she  announced. 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  her  father. 


THE  KINSMAN  95 

"I've  had  a  round  with  Kitty  this  morning. 
She  expects  her  mother  to-morrow.  She  came 
home  on  the  Electric." 

"I  wonder  if  she  saw  anything  of  Roger  Blois?  " 

"  Kitty  says  her  mother's  letter  from  Rock- 
mouth  was  full  of  him.  They  ,seem  to  have 
chummed  up." 

"We  shall  be  able  to  judge  for  ourselves  this 
evening/7  said  Colonel  Blois. 

"  First  impressions  are  important,  but  it  is 
wiser  not  to  attach  too  much  value  to  them," 
said  Mrs.  Blois. 

"Quite  so,"  said  her  husband.  He  always 
replied  to  his  wife's  platitudes  with  gravity,  and 
she  never  discovered  that  he  was  not  as  serious 
as  she  was  herself. 

"Are  we  all  to  assemble  in  the  hall  and  do  him 
homage?"  inquired  Pamela. 

"Why  should  we,  my  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Blois. 
"He  arrives  at  half-past  seven,  and  I  am  always 
upstairs  dressing  then.  Perhaps  we  ought  to 
dress  early  and  be  in  the  drawing-room.  Do  you 
think  we  ought,  Anthony?  The  hall  is  rather 
chilly  at  night,  and  there  are  so  few  comfortable 
chairs.  Besides,  it  is  not  our  custom  to  sit  there." 

"We  are  not  going  to  sit  there/'  said  Colonel 


96  THE  KINSMAN 

Blois,  glancing  severely  at  his  daughter,  "and  you 
need  not  dress  earlier  than  usual.  The  dog-cart 
will  meet  Mr.  Blois,  and  I  will  see  him  when  he 
arrives." 

Pamela  spent  most  of  the  afternoon  at  the  Rec- 
tory playing  tennis  with  Kitty  Bradwardine,  the 
curate  of  Greymarsh,  and  Sir  Charles  Burnham, 
one  of  Kitty's  admirers.  Incidentally  they  talked 
of  Roger  Blois,  because  in  an  English  country 
neighbourhood  the  arrival  of  a  new  young  man 
is  an  event  of  importance. 

"  Mother  says  she  lost  her  heart  to  him,"  said 
Kitty. 

As  Pamela  walked  home  she  wondered  what 
the  phrase  meant  on  Mrs.  Bradwardine's  lips. 
Probably  a  good  deal.  Kitty's  mother  was  a 
fastidious  woman,  not  easily  charmed.  Pamela 
thought  that  she  herself  did  not  want  to  be 
charmed;  but  she  had  no  objection  to  charming 
other  people.  As  she  went  through  the  garden 
she  gathered  a  few  tea  roses,  and  when  she 
dressed  she  chose  a  pale  blue  sash. 

"Now  I  look  like  a  doll,"  she  said  to  Martha, 
her  maid.  "My  dolls  always  wore  white  frocks 
and  blue  ribbons." 

"Yes,   m'm,"   said  Martha.    She  always  said 


THE  KINSMAN  97 

"Yes,  m'm, "  or  "No,  m'm,"  to  her  employers. 
She  found  it  checked  their  troublesome  conver- 
sation. 

"Do  you  think  I  look  like  a  doll,  Martha?"  said 
Pamela,  who  considered  the  girl  a  doll,  but  rather 
liked  her. 

"No,  m'm,"  said  Martha.  "Will  you  have 
your  corals?" 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Pamela,  looking  for  an 
instant  like  her  father.  Then  she  laughed. 

"They  would  make  me  still  more  dolly,"  she 
said. 

"Yes,  m'm,"  said  Martha,  opening  the  door  for 
her  young  lady  and  reflecting  that  she  would  be 
able  to  meet  Bill  Stubbs  as  she  had  promised  by 
eight  o'clock.  Pamela  had  dressed  quickly  to- 
night, and  as  she  ran  downstairs  she  heard  voices 
in  the  hall.  She  arrived  there  in  time  to  find  her 
father  shaking  hands  with  a  tall  young  man  whom 
he  presented  to  her  as  Mr.  Roger  Blois.  She 
shook  hands,  too,  and  looked  at  her  father  to  see 
whether  her  instant  unfavourable  impression 
found  confirmation  in  his  face.  The  young  man 
had  hardly  spoken, — he  had  not  been  half  a  minute 
in  the  house,  —  yet  the  timbre  of  his  voice,  the 
very  way  he  stood,  had  jarred  on  her  already.  Of 


98  THE   KINSMAN 

course  her  father's  face  was  non-committal,  but 
that  told  her  all  she  wanted  to  know.  Meanwhile, 
Mr.  Gammage  was  receiving  impressions,  too,  in 
battalions.  The  hall  was  big  and  old,  the  Colo- 
nel was  not  as  old  as  he  expected,  very  polite, 
and  rather  alarming,  the  girl  was  a  daisy.  He 
wished  he  knew  whether  he  ought  to  keep  his 
hat  in  his  hand  or  put  it  down.  One  of  the  men 
at  the  door  had  offered  to  take  it,  but  Mr.  Gam- 
mage  had  passed  on,  too  flurried  to  give  it  up. 
Confound  the  thing!  As  he  shook  hands  with 
the  girl  it  dropped  and  rolled  along  the  floor. 
Someone  in  evening  clothes  who  stood  near  them 
picked  it  up.  Mr.  Gammage  thanked  him  effu- 
sively and  wanted  to  take  it  back,  but  this  person- 
age, whose  manners  were  even  more  alarming 
than  the  Colonel's,  walked  a  yard  or  so  away 
with  it,  summoned  a  footman,  and  gave  it  to 
him.  Mr.  Gammage  wondered  who  he  could  be 
and  why  the  Colonel,  who  addressed  him  as  Dawes, 
did  not  introduce  him. 

"We  dine  at  eight,"  said  Colonel  Blois.  "You 
will  like  to  go  straight  to  your  room." 

"I  don't  mind,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  glancing  at 
his  host's  tweeds;  "I  washed  my  hands  before  I 


THE   KINSMAN  99 

Pamela  escaped  to  the  drawing-room,  and  a  little 
later,  when  her  stepmother  appeared,  was  demurely 
looking  at  an  illustrated  paper. 

"Has  the  young  man  come?"  said  Mrs.  Blois. 

"Yes,"  said  Pamela. 

"Does  he  look  like  a  Blois?" 

Pamela  hesitated;  then  glanced  at  her  father, 
who  had  dressed  more  quickly  than  his  guest  and 
had  just  come  into  the  room. 

"He  is  rather  like  Dad,"  she  said. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  began  the  Colonel, 
wrathfully.  Then  he  checked  himself  and  opened 
the  Spectator.  A  moment  later  the  gong  sounded, 
Dawes  opened  the  door,  and  the  heir  of  Greymarsh 
came  into  the  room. 

Mr.  Gammage  did  not  look  his  best  in  evening 
clothes,  and  his  cousin's  did  not  fit  him  well.  They 
were  big  across  the  shoulders  and  tight  across 
the  back  and  short  in  the  sleeves.  His  ill-kept 
hands  had  looked  so  conspicuously  ill  kept  that 
to  the  amazement  of  the  man  told  off  to  help 
him  he  had  put  on  white  kid  gloves.  He  had 
often  worn  them  at  subscription  dances,  and  he 
thought  they  could  only  be  a  fault  on  the  right 
side.  He  wore  a  ready-made  tie  bought  in  the 
Strand  that  morning  and  a  couple  of  roses  in  his 


100  THE   KINSMAN 

button-hole.  When  he  was  presented  to  Mrs. 
Blois  and  directed  to  take  her  in  to  dinner,  he 
offered  her  his  arm  and  went  out  of  the  room 
before  the  Colonel.  It  was  a  natural  mistake 
to  make,  but  the  Colonel  looked  gloomily  at  his 
guest's  wrinkly  back.  He  knew  girls  attached 
an  exaggerated  importance  to  solecisms  men 
easily  forgave. 

"Dad,"  whispered  Pamela,  hanging  well  be- 
hind, "when  you  were  in  Australia  did  the  men 
come  down  to  dinner  in  gloves?" 

"I  never  notice  silly  trifles  of  that  kind,"  said 
the  Colonel. 

"His  nose  is  exactly  like  yours,"  the  girl  went 
on,  and  her  father's  response  as  they  entered 
the  dining  room  reminded  her  of  the  little  growl 
her  Bedlington  puppy  sometimes  gave  when  she 
disturbed  him  in  a  nap. 

"Do  you  play  golf  in  Australia?"  asked  Pamela, 
as  she  ate  her  soup. 

"They  do  play  it,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "It  isn't 
much  in  my  line." 

"What  is  your  line?" 

"I'm  rather  partial  to  bridge." 

"What  do  you  do  out  of  doors?" 

"Bike  as  a  general  thing." 


THE   KINSMAN  101 

"I  needn't  ask  an  Australian  if  he  rides,"  said 
Colonel  Blois. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  with  an  air  of 
frank  confession,  "I'm  rather  peculiar.  I  prefer 
a  bike  to  a  horse  any  day.  I  should  think  you 
have  good  roads  about  here.  No  'ills." 

The  Colonel  turned  sharply  to  a  servant  at  his 
elbow  to  give  an  order.  Pamela  helped  herself 
with  preternatural  gravity  to  fish.  Mrs.  Blois 
was  trying  to  make  up  her  slow  mind  about  their 
guest,  and  to  his  intense  discomfort  fixed  her  mild 
eyes  on  him  from  time  to  time.  Mr.  Gammage 
was  not  enjoying  his  dinner.  The  servants  wor- 
ried him.  They  had  nothing  to  do  in  his  opinion 
but  to  stand  about  and  stare.  Mrs.  Blois  worried 
him  because  he  perceived  that  he  puzzled  her. 
The  Colonel,  though  polite,  was  not  genial.  Pamela 
had  just  turned  red.  She  looked  like  a  young  lady 
who  wants  to  smile  and  will  not,  and  he  was  just 
going  to  ask  her  to  tell  him  the  joke  when  his 
host  claimed  his  attention. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Colonel  Blois,  "what  have 
you  done  about  that  kangaroo?" 


CHAPTER  IX 

MR.  GAMMAGE  nearly  dropped  his  knife  and  fork. 
He  put  them  carefully  down  on  either  side  of  his 
plate,  with  their  handles  resting  on  the  cloth,  and 
he  stared  helplessly  at  Colonel  Blois. 

"Kangaroo!"  he  repeated,  not  knowing,  of 
course,  that  nothing  annoyed  his  irascible  host 
more  easily  than  a  senseless  echo  of  his  words 
instead  of  a  reply  to  them. 

"The  little  one  the  sailor  had,  you  know,"  said 
Pamela,  coming  to  the  rescue,  "the  wallaby - 
the  one  you  wrote  about  just  before  you  sailed." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "the  one 
I  wrote  about  —  of  course  —  I  had  forgotten  it." 

His  glass  of  sherry  was  unfinished,  and  he  took 
it  up  now  and  held  it  between  himself  and  the 
light,  as  if  the  colour  attracted  him.  Then  he 
sipped  it  slowly.  Colonel  Blois  helped  himself 
to  stewed  sweetbreads  and  said  nothing. 

"Have  you  brought  it  with  you?"  said  Pamela. 

"I  have  not,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  regretfully. 

"Where  did  you  leave  it?"  asked  Colonel  Blois. 
102 


THE  KINSMAN  103 

"Had  it  grown  much  by  the  end  of  the  jour- 
ney?" asked  Mrs.  Blois,  disregarding  the  frown 
on  her  husband's  face.  She  was  most  anxious  to 
please  him,  but  she  never  could  remember  that 
he  hated  interruption.  Mr.  Gammage  turned  to 
answer  her. 

"It  outgrew  its  strength,"  he  said.  "The 
doctor  did  all  he  could  for  it, —  in  fact,  he  was 
most  attentive, —  fed  it  entirely  on  raw  eggs  and 
brandy  for  a  week.  But  it  was  no  use.  One  day 
the  poor  beggar  just  gave  a  jump  and  died.  I  was 
very  fond  of  that  kangaroo." 

"Perhaps  you  would  have  been  sorry  to  give  it 
us,"  said  Pamela. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "I'll  get 
you  another  from  Jamrach's,  if  you  like." 

"I  don't  want  one,"  said  Mrs.  Blois,  quickly; 
"I  hate  animals  that  jump.  You  never  know 
where  they  are.  The  Duchess  of  Wells  had  a  pet 
monkey,  and  last  time  I  called  at  the  Castle  it 
was  in  the  room  and  leaped  on  my  lap  and  upset 
my  tea.  Everyone  laughed  —  except  me  and  the 
monkey.  Of  course  it  was  most  kind  of  you  to 
bring  us  a  kangaroo,  and  I  am  sorry  the  poor 
creature  died,  but  perhaps  it  is  better  to  leave 
well  alone  and  not  try  another." 


104  THE  KINSMAN 

"No  wonder  it  died,"  growled  the  Colonel. 
"Fancy  feeding  a  kangaroo  on  brandy  and  raw 
eggs !  You  must  have  had  a  fool  for  a  doctor." 

"What  would  you  give  a  sick  kangaroo?"  in- 
quired Mr.  Gammage,  in  his  politest  voice  —  the 
voice  that  used  to  drive  Mr.  Angelo  to  fury.  It 
seemed  to  have  much  the  same  effect  on  Colonel 
Blois,  though  he  did  not  show  his  wrath  as  primi- 
tively as  the  glove  merchant. 

Everyone,  except  Mrs.  Blois,  thought  that 
dinner  took  a  long  time  to-night.  She  babbled 
pleasantly  to  no  one  in  particular,  fed  her  spaniel 
with  biscuits,  and  returned  to  the  drawing-room 
without  any  sense  of  disappointment  or  vexation. 
Nevertheless,  her  first  word  to  Pamela  showed 
that  she  had  used  her  eyes. 

"Australians  seem  to  have  odd  manners,"  she 
said,  settling  herself  comfortably  in  her  chair. 

"Some  of  them,"  said  Pamela. 

"But  we  must  not  condemn  foreign  countries 
because  their  customs  differ  from  our  own." 

"Australia  is  not  a  foreign  country.     It  is  us." 

"It  is  a  long  way  off,  my  dear.  Perhaps  in 
Melbourne  men  come  down  to  dinner  in  gloves. 
I  wonder  if  I  could  persuade  your  father  to  wear 
them  to-morrow?" 


THE  KINSMAN  105 

"What  for?" 

"Well  —  to  make  the  young  man  more  comfort- 
able. I  thought  he  did  not  seem  at  ease." 

"I  thought  he  was  rather  too  much  so  once  or 
twice,"  said  Pamela.  "For  instance,  when  he 
offered  me  those  chocolates  at  dessert  and  said  he 
supposed  I  was  a  sweet-tooth  like  his  other  young 
lady  friends." 

"If  he  was  not  an  Australian,  I  should  say  that 
he  was  not  quite  a  gentleman,"  said  Mrs.  Blois. 

"I  should  say  so  anyhow,  but  I  should  put  it 
more  strongly." 

"Perhaps  he  is  one  of  Nature's  gentlemen." 

"Let  us  hope  so  —  also  that  he  has  a  good  heart 
and  a  pretty  touch  on  the  piano." 

"Does  he  play  the  piano?"  asked  Mrs.  Blois, 
perplexed. 

Pamela  did,  and  she  went  to  it  now  while  her 
stepmother  nodded  over  her  knitting-needles. 
She  felt  inclined  for  tempestuous  music,  but  she 
began  with  the  first  movement  of  the  Moonlight 
Sonata  because  it  sent  Mrs.  Blois  to  sleep.  Then 
she  played  the  Scherzo,  which  invariably  brought 
with  it,  she  hardly  knew  why,  the  picture  of  a 
quiet  corner  in  one  of  her  father's  coverts  where 
small  wild  creatures  ran  to  and  fro  unafraid. 


106  THE   KINSMAN 

Then,  with  a  determined  poise  of  her  slim  hands, 
she  began  the  third  movement.  She  was  not 
half  through  when  her  father  and  the  Australian 
came  across  the  room  towards  her.  Directly 
they  reached  the  piano  Colonel  Blois  left  his 
guest  there  and  went  to  his  usual  chair  opposite 
his  wife.  Mr.  Gammage  sat  down  close  to  the 
piano  and  asked  Pamela  if  she  was  fond  of  music. 
She  stopped  playing  in  the  middle  of  a  bar  to 
answer  him. 

"Yes,  I  am,"  she  said. 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  piece  you  are  play- 
ing?" he  said. 

Pamela  told  him  and  asked  him  if  he  liked  it. 
He  said  it  didn't  seem  to  have  much  to  catch  hold 
of  and  was  rather  abrupt  at  the  end.  She  said  he 
had  not  heard  the  end  because  he  interrupted  her 
in  the  middle. 

"Can't  you  talk  when  you  are  playing?"  he 
asked  with  surprise.  At  Barnes  they  had  music 
every  evening,  music  and  shrieks  of  laughter  and 
popular  songs,  all  mixed  together  in  a  friendly 
potpourri;  he  wished  himself  back  there  just  for 
half  an  hour. 

"Do  you  sing  or  play?"  asked  Pamela,  evad- 
ing his  question.  She  could  have  spoken  without 


THE  KINSMAN  107 

coming  to  a  stop,  but  she  had  not  chosen  to  do 
so. 

"I  sing  one  or  two  humorous  songs/7  said  Mr. 
Gammage,  who  had  made  quite  a  little  stir  at  a 
Christmas  party  with  "My  lodger,  he's  a  nice 
young  man." 

"Oh  !"  said  Pamela.  She  gave  a  guess  at  what 
"humorous"  stood  for  in  Mr.  Gammage's  reper- 
toire, and  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Blois  considered  all 
comic  songs  vulgar. 

"And  I  whistle,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"My  father  likes  cards  after  dinner,"  said 
Pamela,  getting  up  from  the  piano.  "Do  you 
play  whist?" 

"I  used  to,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  and  again  a 
picture  from  his  past  troubled  him, — the  picture  of 
a  little  bamboo  table  covered  with  an  old  "art" 
serge  cloth  set  in  a  corner  of  the  dining  room 
-  four  pipes  —  an  ancient  pack  of  cards  —  the 
boys'  noisy  laughter  —  Florrie  and  her  mother 
making  blouses  at  the  big  table. 

"I  used  to  play  every  night,"  he  said,  "when  it 
was  in  fashion.  But  nowadays,  of  course,  I  play 
bridge." 

"We  still  play  whist,"  said  Pamela. 

Mrs.  Blois  had  never  been  able  to  learn  bridge. 


108  THE  KINSMAN 

As  a  girl  she  had  played  whist,  and  she  knew  that 
you  should  refrain  from  trumping  your  partner's 
trick,  return  him  trumps  when  he  seemed  to  want 
them,  and  remember  whether  the  ace  of  each  suit 
was  out  or  not.  This  was  sound  knowledge,  as 
far  as  it  went,  but  Colonel  Blois  preferred  his  wife 
as  an  adversary.  He  played  a  fair  game,  and  had 
stormed  the  first  principles  pretty  successfully 
into  Pamela.  So  he  sat  down  in  a  good  temper 
to-night  when  the  cut  made  them  partners,  and 
as  they  won  two  rubbers  in  succession  he  remained 
in  a  good  temper.  But  Mr.  Gammage's  ways 
at  the  game  did  not  please  him.  There  is  a 
manner  of  flicking  down  your  card  that  gentlemen 
consider  fit  for  the  pot-house ;  and  there  are  small 
insincerities  of  play  harder  to  forgive  than  a  burg- 
lary. Colonel  Blois  made  up  his  mind  to-night 
that  he  would  never  sit  down  to  bridge  with  his 
present  guest.  He  could  see  him  as  dummy  giv- 
ing Mrs.  Blois  hints  of  what  he  wanted  played. 
His  game  to-night  was  shrewd,  and  he  had  a 
memory,  but  he  relied  too  much  on  his  own  hand. 
Mrs.  Blois  did  not  observe  this,  but  her  eyes 
grew  round  when  he  thumped  a  winning  card  on 
the  table  and  swept  up  a  trick  before  anyone  could 
see  what  took  it.  He  flurried  her,  too.,  by  throw- 


THE  KINSMAN  109 

ing  down  his  hand  before  the  game  was  finished 
and  announcing  the  result.  When  her  husband 
did  this  she  had  no  objection,  because  the  Colo- 
nel could  do  no  wrong;  but  when  Mr.  Gammage 
did  it  she  thought  he  took  too  much  upon  himself. 
" After  bridge,  whist  seems  a  bit  flat,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage,  when  he  had  lost  the  second  rubber. 
Colonel  Blois  was  replacing  the  cards  in  a  leather 
case. 

"Have  you  played  much  bridge?"  he  asked. 
"A  good  deal.     The  boys  and  I  — " 
He  checked  himself,  and  Colonel  Blois  allowed 
the  matter  to  drop.     But  Pamela  wondered  why 
the  Australian  did  not  finish  his  sentence. 

"Was  it  lonely  where  you  lived,  or  had  you 
many  neighbours?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  it  depends  on  what  you  call  lonely," 
said  Mr.  Gammage;  "of  course,  you  don't  get  the 
society  in  a  place  like  Australia  that  you  do  in 
London,  and  when  you  own  fifty  thousand  acres 
yourself  it  takes  a  little  to  get  outside  'em  unless 
you  live  on  the  edge." 

"Did  you  own  fifty  thousand  acres?" 
"That's  putting  it  at  the  lowest  figure." 
"What  have  you  done  with  them?" 
"Oh,  they're  still  there,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 


110  THE  KINSMAN 

"Were  there  any  kangaroo  on  them?" 

"  Jumping  about  everywhere  —  as  tame  as  the 
deer  in  Bushey  Park." 

"You  seem  to  know  a  good  many  things  about 
London  and  England  considering  that  you  only 
arrived  the  day  before  yesterday,"  said  Pamela. 

Colonel  Blois  interrupted  this  conversation  by 
carrying  off  his  guest  to  smoke.  He  gave  him  a 
comfortable  chair  and  supplied  him  with  cigars 
and  whiskey,  and  then  put  him  on  the  rack  by 
asking  questions  about  his  life  and  circumstances. 
Mr.  Gammage  had  not  wasted  his  afternoon,  and 
he  made  out  a  fair  case  for  himself.  He  said  that 
his  affairs  were  prosperous  and  could  be  wound 
up  without  his  return  to  Australia.  He  had  not 
decided  yet  what  he  was  going  to  do ;  but  before 
settling  down  he  had  a  fancy  to  see  more  of  the 
world.  He  astutely  asked  the  Colonel's  advice 
about  eastern  countries  and  so  led  his  host  as  far 
as  possible  from  Australia  and  from  his  own  past. 
Colonel  Blois  was  always  pleased  to  talk  of  India, 
but  as  he  did  so  to-night  he  observed  his  guest 
and  wished  he  liked  him  better.  For  there  he 
sat,  undoubted  heir  of  Greymarsh,  and  a  true 
Blois  by  the  cut  of  his  jib.  It  was  in  voice  and 
in  the  subtleties  of  manner  that  he  failed.  Also, 


THE  KINSMAN  111 

his  nerves  seemed  jumpy.  What  ailed  the  fellow? 
He  had  just  said  that  he  thought  of  beginning  his 
travels  with  a  fortnight  in  Paris. 

"But  not  just  yet,  I  hope,"  said  Colonel  Blois, 
courteously;  "we  have  a  few  people  to  dine  on 
Monday  and  a  garden  party  on  the  28th." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  fidgeting  in 
his  chair. 

"You  don't  dislike  meeting  people,  I  hope?" 

"It  depends  on  who  they  are." 

"No  doubt,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"I  don't  mind  strangers  so  much  —  and  of 
course  in  this  part  of  the  country  - 

"Mrs.  Bradwardine  is  coming  on  Monday." 

Mr.  Gammage  uncrossed  his  legs  and  crossed 
them  again.  He  pretended  to  look  reflectively 
at  his  cigar  and  he  said  nothing.  His  thoughts 
went  straight  to  the  lady  in  the  omnibus  and  at 
the  Metropole,  but  he  dared  not  take  for  granted 
that  she  was  Mrs.  Bradwardine. 

"You  made  friends  on  the  Electric,  didn't  you?" 
said  Colonel  Blois,  surprised  by  his  guest's  silence. 

"At  first,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

Colonel  Blois  had  known  Mrs.  Bradwardine 
for  years  and  he  had  now  seen  Mr.  Gammage.  He 
was  less  surprised  by  the  suggestion  that  the  friend- 


112  THE  KINSMAN 

ship  had  not  endured  than  he  had  been  by  the  idea 
of  its  beginning. 

"The  Mrs.  Bradwardine  I  know  is  a  tall,  thin 
lady,"  continued  Mr.  Gammage;  "she  has  grey 
hair  and  a  haughty  way  of  looking  at  you.  Must 
have  been  a  pretty  girl  once  and  thinks  a  lot  of 
herself." 

"It  is  not  likely  that  there  were  two  Mrs.  Brad- 
wardines  on  the  Electric,"  said  Colonel  Blois; 
"she  is  the  wife  of  our  Rector  and  our  very  good 
friend." 

"May  be  all  right  when  you  know  her,"  said 
Mr.  Gammage,  gloomily.  "If  you  had  observed 
her  behaviour  to  me  at  Paddington  and  yester- 
day in  the  Metropole,  you  wouldn't  have  said 
'friendly'  described  it.  Dirt  under  her  feet  would 
be  nearer  the  mark." 

Colonel  Blois  felt  troubled  and  tried  not  to 
show  it. 

"I  must  tell  my  wife  not  to  put  you  near  each 
other  at  dinner,  then,"  he  said. 

"Trust  me  for  that,"  said  Mr.  Gammage; 
"wherever  that  lady  sits,  you'll  find  me  at  the 
other  end  of  the  table." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  hot  June  sun  streamed  into  the  little  bed- 
room, and  the  bluebottles  seemed  to  enjoy  it 
They  buzzed  noisily  from  the  window  to  the  sick 
man's  face,  here  and  there  and  back  again,  and  his 
weak  efforts  to  brush  them  off  tired  him  only. 
He  lay  there  staring  at  surroundings  he  did  not 
know,  at  the  gaudy  flapping  blind  that  kept  out 
neither  light  nor  heat,  at  the  walls  plastered  with 
cardboard  texts,  at  the  cheap  furniture.  He 
tried  to  remember  where  he  was,  and  could  re- 
member nothing.  He  tried  to  sleep,  and  could 
not  because  of  the  heat  and  the  flies.  He  was 
thirsty,  but  there  was  nothing  near  him  to  drink 
and  he  had  no  strength  yet  to  rise.  His  head 
ached  and  his  bandaged  hand  pained  him.  He 
looked  for  a  bell,  but  saw  none.  For  a  long  while 
he  lay  there,  helpless,  feverish,  and  miserable. 
Then  the  door  opened,  and  a  young  woman  he 
did  not  know  came  in.  She  had  a  cup  in  her  hand 
and  nearly  dropped  it  when  she  saw  him.  For  he 

looked  at  her  with  speculation  in  his  eyes,  and  he 
1  113 


114  THE  KINSMAN 

had  not  done  that  since  he  had  been  brought  to 
the  farm  a  week  ago,  half  drowned  and  still  un- 
conscious. Some  fishermen  had  carried  him  in, 
when  she  had  already  sent  a  telegram  to  Barnes 
announcing  his  death  and  the  consequent  post- 
ponement of  her  journey.  His  clothes  had  been 
found  by  the  shore  on  Coffin  Bay,  and  until  the 
fishing  boat  arrived  everyone  in  the  village  took 
it  for  granted  that  he  had  gone  out  to  bathe  and 
been  drowned. 

"You'm  better,"  she  said  joyfully,  as  she  ap- 
proached the  bed. 

"Have  I  been  ill?"  asked  Roger,  and  he  won- 
dered at  his  own  voice.  It  sounded  weak  and 
unfamiliar. 

"You've  been  at  death's  door,"  said  the  girl. 
Roger  watched  her  dreamily,  and  wondered  who  she 
could  be  and  why  she  looked  at  him  with  affection. 

"How  did  I  get  there?"  he  asked. 

"How  did  you  get  here,  you  mean,"  said  the 
girl,  in  a  tone  of  tender  reproach.  "What  did 
'e  want  to  go  and  swim  out  to  the  Coffin  Rock  for 
when  I'd  told  'e  how  dangerous  it  was  all  about 
there?  If  you'd  been  fifty  yards  nearer,  they 
couldn't  have  got  hold  of  you." 

"Who  couldn't?" 


THE   KINSMAN  115 

"Tom  Blixworthy  and  Steve.  They  saw  you— 

"How  long  have  I  been  here?" 

"Reckoning  from  the  time  you  came,  a  fort- 
night come  Saturday.  Shall  I  shake  your  pillow 
before  you  have  your  milk?  You'm  a  lot  better, 
ban't  you,  dear?" 

"What  next?"  thought  Roger,  but  he  had 
hardly  time  to  ask  himself  the  question  before 
Julia  answered  it.  In  a  matter-of-fact  way  she 
stooped  over  the  bed  and  kissed  him. 

"You  mustn't  talk,  you  know,"  she  said. 

"I  don't  want  to  talk,"  said  Roger,  trying  to  look 
pleased.  But  the  girl  used  cheap  scent,  her  beauty 
was  flamboyant,  and  her  voice  was  shrill.  Just 
now  it  went  through  his  aching  head  intolerably. 

"The  doctor  said  I  wasn't  to  say  a  word  to  you 
when  you  did  wake  up,"  she  went  on.  "He  said 
he  wouldn't  answer  for  the  consequences  if  we 
let  you  get  excited  about  anything.  He's  coming 
again  to-night." 

"Have  you  sent  to  Rockmouth  for  my  things?" 
said  Roger,  looking  round  the  room  for  his  belong- 
ings and  seeing  none. 

"They're  aU  right,"  said  the  girl;  "they  were 
found  on  the  shore." 

She  had  gone  to  the  window  and  was  noisily 


116  THE  KINSMAN 

pulling  up  the  blind.  She  had  never  been  ill  in 
her  life,  and  had  no  idea  how  the  creak  of  her  shoes 
and  the  jar  of  her  voice  affected  the  fastidious, 
aching  senses  of  the  man  lying  ill  there.  As  she 
came  away  from  the  window  she  brushed  heavily 
against  the  bedstead,  and  apologised  cheer- 
fully. He  shut  his  eyes,  and  in  a  state  of  tension 
waited  for  her  to  go.  When  he  heard  the  door 
bang,  he  opened  his  eyes  again  and  pondered  over 
the  strange  things  she  had  done  and  said.  Why 
had  she  kissed  him,  why  had  she  called  him  dear, 
why  had  she  spoken  as  if  all  his  property  had  been 
found  by  the  shore?  He  supposed  his  clothes 
might  have  been  found  and  his  identity  discovered, 
but  he  could  not  think  consecutively  for  long. 
Now  that  the  blind  was  up  and  a  cooler  air  came 
into  the  room,  the  flies  were  less  aggressive,  and 
he  soon  fell  asleep.  When  he  woke  an  elderly 
woman  stood  beside  the  bed,  while  a  stout-faced 
man  with  the  eyes  of  a  ferret  and  the  mouth  of  a 
fool  felt  his  pulse.  This  man  sat  on  the  bed  and 
addressed  his  patient  with  jocular  familiarity. 

"So  we  are  quite  ourselves  again,  and  remember 
all  about  it,"  he  began. 

"I  remember  getting  a  cramp  when  I  was  swim- 
ming," said  Roger. 


THE  KINSMAN  117 

"But  what  do  you  remember  before  and  after?" 

"I  remember  everything  before  and  nothing 
since.  What  has  happened  to  my  hand?" 

The  doctor  gave  a  highly  technical  explana- 
tion, to  which  the  woman  listened  open-eyed  and 
which  Roger  followed  incompletely  and  impa- 
tiently. 

"That's  very  interesting,"  he  said,  "but  I 
don't  understand  a  word  of  it.  Will  you  oblige 
me  by  saying  it  over  again  in  English.  Never 
mind  about  the  causes  just  now.  I  want  the  re- 
sults." 

The  doctor  glared  at  his  patient  before  he  at- 
tempted to  reply.  He  considered  the  young 
man's  independent  tone  outrageous  under  the 
circumstances. 

"The  injury  will  affect  your  writing  for  a  time," 
he  said  stiffly.  "You  will  have  the  use  of  your 
hand  for  some  things  in  a  day  or  two ;  but  if  you 
write  or  paint  or  play  the  piano,  let  us  say  —  what 
is  your  occupation?" 

"Over  here?  I  can  hardly  tell  you,"  said 
Roger.  "I  suppose  I  must  get  an  amanuensis." 

"Poor  soul !"  said  the  woman.  "Julia  she  told 
me  he  was  still  daft-like.  He's  a  clerk,  sir,  when 
he's  at  home." 


118  THE   KINSMAN 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Roger. 

"Come,  come,"  said  the  doctor,  "you're  not 
going  to  tell  me  youVe  forgotten  Mrs.  Martin. 
It  won't  wash,  you  know." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  sit  on  the  bed,"  said 
Roger.  "Isn't  there  a  chair  in  the  room?" 

Dr.  Spott  bounced  to  his  feet,  jolting  the 
bed,  and  Roger's  aching,  feverish  head  with  it. 
The  sick  man  frowned. 

"Not  quite  himself,  as  you  observe,"  said  the 
doctor.  "At  least,  we  will  hope  so.  But  there's 
a  lot  of  ingratitude  in  the  world." 

"He  do  seem  to  have  woke  up  less  friendly," 
said  Mrs.  Martin.  "How  is  he  to-night?  "  she  asked. 

"Rather  fractious,"  said  the  doctor.  He  had 
Roger's  injured  hand  between  his  own,  and  was 
causing  him  considerable  pain.  There  were  three 
people  round  the  bed,  and  the  low-roofed  little 
room  seemed  crowded  with  them.  Roger  made 
no  sound,  but  he  suddenly  went  very  white  and 
shut  his  eyes.  The  woman  screamed,  the  doctor 
looked  up. 

"He  has  fainted,"  he  said;  "he'll  soon  come  to. 
I  shan't  bandage  this  hand  again.  It  isn't  neces- 
sary." 

When  Roger  regained   consciousness,   the  girl 


THE   KINSMAN  119 

was  still  in  the  room.  Mrs.  Martin  and  Dr.  Spott 
had  gone. 

"You  did  give  me  a  fright/'  she  said. 

She  gave  Roger  a  fright  as  she  spoke,  because 
she  came  towards  the  bed  and  he  thought  she 
was  going  to  kiss  him  again.  He  hurriedly  tried 
to  draw  her  into  conversation. 

"Where  does  that  doctor  come  from?"  he 
asked. 

"From  Rockmouth,"  said  Julia.  "He  be  very 
clever." 

"He  doesn't  look  clever.  I  don't  believe  he 
knows  anything  about  my  hand.  If  I'm  not 
right  in  a  day  or  two,  I'll  have  a  second  opinion." 

The  girl  stared. 

"Doctors  cost  a  sight  of  money,"  she  reminded 
him. 

Roger  made  no  reply.  He  still  felt  too  weak 
for  any  discussion.  But  next  day  he  felt  a  good 
deal  better,  and  the  day  after  that  better  still. 
His  hand  was  healing  well.  A  fresh  wind  came 
along,  bringing  rain  with  it  and  driving  away  the 
flies.  Roger  listened  to  the  pleasant  patter  of  it 
and  gradually  came  to  himself  again.  At  inter- 
vals the  woman  he  now  called  Mrs.  Martin  and  her 
daughter  Julia  came  in  with  food,  but  he  did  not 


120  THE   KINSMAN 

encourage  them  to  talk  or  stay  long.  He  had 
asked  one  or  two  questions  and  received  unsatis- 
factory answers,  and  for  some  reason  he  did  not 
understand  both  women  turned  uncommunica- 
tive when  he  tried  to  find  out  why  he  had  been 
brought  here  and  what  their  circumstances  were. 
He  gathered  that  he  was  in  a  farmhouse  of  a  poor 
class,  and  that  the  mother  and  daughter  were  at 
work  all  day  and  short  of  money,  but  he  could 
not  make  out  why  the  girl's  manner  should  alter- 
nate between  reproachful  affection  and  primitive 
sulks.  Another  little  thing  that  troubled  him 
was  his  ten  days'  beard.  He  could  feel  it  short 
and  scrubby  all  over  his  chin,  and  on  the  third 
day  after  the  doctor's  visit,  when  he  really  felt 
much  better,  he  asked  Mrs.  Martin  to  send  for  a 
barber. 

" There  ban't  one  to  Trevalla,"  said  Mrs.  Mar- 
tin; "he'd  never  pick  up  a  living.  Our  men 
mostly  grow  a  beard  —  or  shave  themselves." 

"I  shave  myself,"  said  Roger,  "but  I  can't 
while  my  hand  is  lame.  Your  daughter  tells  me 
my  things  are  here,  Mrs.  Martin.  Will  you  give 
me  my  dressing-case?" 

Mrs.  Martin  stared  at  him  and  went  out  of  the 
room.  A  moment  later  Julia  came  in  and  dived 


THE   KINSMAN  121 

under  the  bed,  reappearing  with  a  small,  shabby 
black  bag. 

"Here  be  your  bag,"  she  said,  "but  there  be 
nothing  inside  only  a  pair  of  old  socks  as  I  haven't 
had  time  to  mend." 

Roger  looked  at  the  bag  with  repudiation  in 
every  line  of  his  astonished  face. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  they  gave  you  that 
thing  at  the  Swan?"  he  cried. 

The  girl  started  as  if  he  had  scared  her,  and  she 
put  the  bag  on  the  floor  again. 

"You'm  not  so  well  to-day,"  she  said.  "You 
lie  down  again  and  go  to  sleep." 

"My  dear  Miss  Martin,"  said  Roger,  angrily. 
Then  he  stopped  in  amazement,  because  the  girl 
began  to  cry. 

"You've  woke  up  so  different,"  she  said; 
"you'm  so  unkind  now." 

This  explains  everything,  thought  Roger,  aghast. 
For  a  whole  week  he  had  been  unconscious,  irre- 
sponsible, for  all  he  knew,  delirious  —  and,  as  the 
girl  said,  different. 

"When  a  man's  ill  he's  apt  to  talk  nonsense," 
he  said.  "I  suppose  I  did." 

"I  like  'e  better  ill  than  well,"  sobbed  the  girl. 
Her  grief  like  her  beauty  was  too  unrestrained  — 


122  THE   KINSMAN 

the  one  to  please  Roger's  fastidious  taste,  the  other 
to  make  an  effective  appeal  to  his  pity. 

"Well  —  don't  cry,"  he  said  kindly;  "I'm  sure 
I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  taking  such  good 
care  of  me,  and  if  you'll  tell  me  where  my  clothes 
are,  I'll  get  up.  To-morrow  or  the  day  after  I'll 
drive  into  Rockmouth  and  see  about  my  things 
myself." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  like  that,"  said  Julia; 
"it  frightens  mother  and  it  frightens  me  when 
you  seem  so  comical." 

"What  frightens  you?" 

"The  nonsense  you  talk  about  your  bag  and  not 
knowing  our  names  and  calling  me  Miss  Martin 
and  all.  We  didn't  mind  it  when  you  were  silly, 
but  we  do  now." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  call  you?" 

"Julia,  of  course.  Ban't  us  goin'  to  be  mar- 
ried?" 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  Roger.  "What  makes 
you  think  so?" 

The  girl  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and 
sobbed  loudly  into  her  handkerchief. 

"I  believe  you've  forgotten  all  about  it,"  she 
said,  as  soon  as  she  could  speak. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Roger.     "You  see  I  was  silly, 


THE   KINSMAN  123 

as  you  call  it,  and  I  suppose  I  didn't  know  what 
I  was  saying." 

"But  now  that  you're  sensible,  don't  you  want 
to  marry  me?" 

It  was  an  awkward  question  awkwardly  put, 
thought  Roger.  He  was  anxious  not  to  hurt  the 
girl's  feelings,  but  any  idea  of  a  serious  entangle- 
ment was  out  of  the  question. 

"  We'll  discuss 'that  when  I'm  better,"  he  said. 
"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  where  my  clothes  are  now. 
I  want  to  get  up." 

Julia  went  to  the  little  painted  chest  of  drawers, 
opened  the  lower  one,  took  a  pile  of  clothes  from 
it,  and  brought  them  to  the  bed. 

"What  are  these?"  said  Roger,  eyeing  them 
as  he  had  eyed  the  bag. 

The  girl's  sobs,  which  were  beginning  to  get 
badly  on  his  nerves,  broke  out  with  renewed 
violence. 

"No  wonder  you  don't  know  we'm  keeping 
company,"  she  said,  "when  you  don't  know  your 
own  clothes  and  your  own  bag.  You've  forgotten 
everything." 

"Either  you  are  mad  or  I  am,"  said  Roger. 

He  lay  back  on  his  pillow  and  stared  at  the 
clothes.  There  was  a  pink  flannellette  shirt  with 


124  THE   KINSMAN 

frayed  wristbands  and  a  reach-me-down  tweed 
suit  sadly  the  worse  for  wear.  The  pink  shirt 
was  checked,  offensively  checked,  with  yellow. 
Somewhere  —  sometime  —  he  had  seen  it  before. 

"Where  do  you  say  these  were  found?"  he 
asked. 

"On  the  shore  in  Coffin  Bay  —  where  you  left 
them,"  said  Julia,  and  fell  to  crying  again.  His 
face,  his  voice,  frightened  her  now. 

"Where  —  I  —  left  —  them,"  he  said  slowly, 
to  himself  rather  than  to  her.  The  girl  nodded. 
Roger  sought  for  the  truth  and  was  suddenly 
startled  out  of  all  composure  by  a  vivid  memory 
of  Mr.  Gammage.  He  sat  up,  and  his  eyes  were 
hard  and  angry  as  he  thrust  the  clothes  from  him. 

"They  are  not  mine,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  Bert !"  wailed  the  girl. 

"My  name  is  not  Bert,"  said  Roger  Blois. 


CHAPTER   XI 

WHEN  Julia  rushed  into  the  kitchen,  tear-stained 
and  vociferous,  she  found  that  Dr.  Spott  had  ar- 
rived. He  was  having  a  little  lunch  before  going 
up  to  see  his  patient,  and  he  went  on  with  it  while 
Julia  told  her  tale. 

"He  be  getting  up/'  she  cried;  "he  says  they'm 
not  his  clothes.  He  says  he  isn't  Bert.  He  says 
we'm  not  engaged.  0  dear !  O  dear !  Can't  you 
cure  him,  doctor?" 

With  a  magisterial  countenance,  Dr.  Spott 
helped  himself  to  more  cheese. 

"Does  he  seem  excited?"  he  asked. 

"He  didn't  shout  or  swear,"  said  Julia,  thinking 
of  Mr.  Martin's  ways  when  annoyed.  "He  turned 
very  white  when  I  give  him  the  clothes  and  looked 
at  'em  very  black." 

"H — -m,"  said  the  doctor. 

"I  wonder  if  Cuticura  would  do  him  good," 
said  Mrs.  Martin.  "It  suits  me  in  the  spring." 

Dr.    Spott    shook    his    head    and    pursed    up 

his  lips.     He  then  began  to  cross-examine  Julia 

120 


126  THE  KINSMAN 

with  a  purposeful  air  that  impressed  and  vaguely 
consoled  her.  Dr.  Spott  knew  very  little  about 
disease,  but  he  knew  something  about  rather  silly 
women,  and  it  is  an  open  question  whether  this 
branch  of  knowledge  was  not  as  useful  to  his 
pocket  as  the  other  would  have  been. 

" You  were  engaged  to  be  married?"  he  asked. 
"  Let  me  have  the  whole  story,  if  you  please,  from 
beginning  to  end." 

So  Julia  went  into  all  the  circumstances  of  her 
betrothal,  even  showing  Dr.  Spott  the  pearl  neck- 
lace that  Mr.  Gammage  had  bought  for  her  in 
Rockmouth.  He  said  it  might  prove  a  useful 
link,  and  that  he  would  afterwards  take  it  upstairs 
with  him. 

"Has  the  young  man  any  means?"  he  asked. 

"Not  a  brass  farden,  I  should  say,"  replied  Mrs. 
Martin.  "  There  was  a  little  money  in  his  pockets, 
but  I've  spent  that  on  the  wine  and  beef-tea  you've 
ordered.  I  never  can  get  a  shilling  out  o'  Martin." 

"Bert  was  earning  good  money,  and  will  again," 
said  Julia,  who  saw  the  doctor's  face  fall.  "He 
was  in  business  in  London." 

"Has  he  no  friends  or  family?" 

"He've  no  family.  He've  friends  who's  cousins 
of  ours.  We  telegraphed  to  tell  them  he  was 


THE  KINSMAN  127 

drowned,  and  then  we  wrote  to  say  it  was  a  mis- 
take, and  we  got  a  very  glumpy  letter  back  — 

"They  was  vexed,"  put  in  Mrs.  Martin ;  "  offered 
to  send  his  things  here  and  mentioned  that  a 
gentleman  called  Salter  would  occupy  his  room 
in  future." 

"We  didn't  tell  them  how  ill  he  was,"  said 
Julia,  who  had  an  honest  soul.  "I  wrote  the 
same  night  and  told  'em  that  he  was  alive  but 
not  well  enough  to  travel,  and  that  he  and  me 
were  going  to  be  married.  You  see,  he  lodged 
with  our  cousins,  and  there  is  a  daughter  about 
my  age  —  Florrie  her  name  is  —  and  mother 
fancies  — " 

"Well,"  said  Dr.  Spott,  who  had  now  finished 
his  lunch,  "I'll  have  a  look  at  him." 

He  had  the  necklace  in  his  hands  when  he  went 
into  the  bedroom,  where  Roger  was  now  sitting 
by  the  window  dressed  in  Mr.  Gammage's  clothes. 

Roger  was  disfigured  by  a  ten  days'  beard ;  he 
looked  thin  and  weak  and  pale ;  but  no  accidents 
of  fortune  could  take  from  him  the  distinction  of 
speech  and  manner  his  cousin  lacked.  Dr.  Spott 
was  not  inclined  to  like  his  patient.  He  objected 
to  the  air  of  a  gentleman  without  money  to  sup- 
port it ;  and  there  was  an  ironical  glance  now  and 


128  THE  KINSMAN 

then  in  Roger's  eyes  that  he  understood  and  re- 
sented. It  had  annoyed  him  the  other  evening 
when  he  was  trying  to  impress  Mrs.  Martin  in  his 
favourite  double  part  of  magician  and  high  priest. 

The  doctor  went  into  the  room  with  the  pearl 
necklace  dangling  from  his  hand.  He  sat  down 
opposite  Roger  and  said  he  was  glad  to  see  him 
up  and  dressed.  Roger  made  some  suitable  reply, 
but  did  not  seem  much  inclined  to  talk. 

"  You'll  be  about  again  in  a  day  or  two,"  said 
Dr.  Spott.  "But  it's  a  bad  job  about  your  hand; 
that  is,  if  you  clerk  for  your  living.  Miss  Julia  tells 
me  you're  in  business  in  London." 

"I've  never  been  in  London,"  said  Roger. 
"I've  just  arrived  from  Australia." 

Dr.  Spott  never  allowed  himself  to  be  surprised. 
Whatever  happened,  he  had  invariably  expected. 
He  now  took  from  his  pocket  a  Swan  pen  and  an 
old  envelope. 

"Oblige  me  by  writing  your  name,"  he  said. 
Roger,  with  considerable  difficulty,  wrote  his  name 
in  characters  so  illegible  that  he  looked  at  them 
in  dismay. 

"I  can't  write,"  he  muttered. 

"I  told  you  how  it  would  be.  Let  me  have  a 
look." 


THE   KINSMAN  129 

Roger  handed  the  doctor  the  envelope. 

"  What's  this?  "he  said. 

"My  name/7  said  Roger. 

"Ever  hear  of  Mr.  Herbert  Gammage?" 

"Yes,"  said  Roger,  savagely,  "I  want  to  hear  of 
him  again." 

The  doctor  dangled  the  necklace  to  and  fro  in 
front  of  his  patient's  eyes. 

"Ever  seen  this?"  he  asked. 

"Often.     On  Miss  Martin's  neck." 

"Why  Miss  Martin?" 

"Why  not?" 

"She  calls  you  Bert  —  her  dear  Bert." 

"I  wish  she  wouldn't,"  said  Roger. 

"What  should  she  call  you?" 

"My  name  is  Roger  Blois." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  and  mumbled 
something  about  hallucinations.  Roger  looked 
at  him,  and  perhaps  his  glance  un- 
wisely expressed  the  dislike  and  distrust  he 
felt. 

"I  met  this  Herbert  Gammage  in  Coffin  Bay," 
he  said  curtly.  "He  must  have  got  into  my 
clothes  while  I  was  swimming.  Our  fathers  were 
cousins.  I  discovered  a  —  superficially  —  we  were 
very  much  alike." 


130  THE  KINSMAN 

"Ever  had  any  trouble  of  this  kind  before?" 
said  the  doctor,  blandly. 

"There  will  be  trouble  between  you  and  me 
directly,"  said  Roger,  his  gaunt  face  set  hard  in 
anger  now.  "I'm  not  going  to  answer  any  more 
of  your  questions,  and  I  will  dispense  with  your 
visits  in  future.  Let  me  know  what  I  owe  you 
and  you  shall  have  a  cheque." 

"A  cheque!  a  cheque!"  spluttered  the  doctor, 
the  veins  of  his  forehead  swelling  with  offence 
and  rage.  "You  cockney  beggar !  I  suppose  you 
think  you're  the  Emperor  of  China  or  Van- 
derbilt.  What  you  want  is  a  strait-waist- 
coat." 

"This  is  my  room,"  said  Roger,  rising  to  his 
feet;  "get  out  of  it." 

The  doctor  retreated  hastily  from  the  angry- 
looking  man,  who  now  edged  him  towards  the  door. 
He  was  still  quivering  with  wrath  when  he  re- 
entered  the  kitchen  and  threw  the  pearl  necklace 
on  the  table. 

"Is  he  better?"  asked  Julia,  tearfully. 

"He'll  be  right  enough  in  a  day  or  two,"  said 
the  doctor,  "as  regards  his  body." 

"Oh!"  cried  Julia.  "Doesn't  he  know  he's 
Bert  yet?  Couldn't  you  make  him  understand?" 


THE  KINSMAN  131 

"My  dear  Miss  Julia,"  said  the  doctor,  soothed 
down  at  once  by  the  girl's  appeal  to  his  power, 
"even  I  am  not  omnipotent.  Let  me  explain 
now.  Suppose  your  head  received  a  severe  blow. 
It  would  probably  be  injured.  You  follow  that, 
don't  you?" 

Julia  thought  she  did. 

"Now  an  injury  to  the  brain  is  not  like  a  cut 
on  your  finger.  "  You  can't  cure  it  with  sticking- 
plaister,  because  you  can't  reach  it  in  that  way. 
You  understand?" 

Julia  waited  patiently  until  the  doctor  stopped 
to  take  breath. 

"When  will  he  be  all  right  again?"  she  asked 
then,  for  that  was  what  concerned  her.  Puerile 
explanations  did  not. 

"I'll  tell  you  next  time  I  see  him,"  said  Dr. 
Spott. 

"What  did  he  say  to  you?" 

"Told  me  some  cock-and-bull  story  about  meet- 
ing a  cousin  in  Coffin  Bay." 

"But  maybe  he  did,"  said  Julia;  "maybe  that's 
how  he  gets  his  idea  about  the  Swan  at  Rock- 
mouth." 

"What  idea?" 

"He  thinks  he  has  a  dressing-case  there  and 


132  THE  KINSMAN 

clothes.     Poor  Bert !    He's  wearing  all  the  clothes 
he  brought  with  him." 

"Quite  possible,"  said  Dr.  Spott,  sagely.  "He 
may  have  met  someone  just  before  his  accident, 
and  this  hallucination  about  an  exchange  of  per- 
sonalities may  arise  out  of  that  chance  encounter. 
I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised.  In  fact,  I  ex- 
pected something  of  the  kind  from  the  first.  I'll 
see  the  landlord  of  the  Swan  to-morrow  and  ask 
him  a  few  questions.  I  shall  come  again  on  Mon- 
day and  bring  my  brother-in-law,  Dr.  Muggeridge, 
with  me.  Then  we  will  tell  you  what  is  best  to  be 
done.  You  are  sure  the  young  man  has  no 
friends?" 

"No  one  but  us  and  our  cousins  at  Barnes,  and 
they  seem  to  have  fallen  out  with  him." 
"   "Well,  if  this  is  going  to  be  a  long  business,  we 
must  try  to  fix  up  something.     Your  father  won't 
want  him  here  for  ever." 

The  girl  fidgeted  nervously  with  her  fingers  and 
spoke  in  a  shamefaced  way. 

"I'm  scared  to  go  near  him,"  she  said;  "our 
cowman's  father  was  daft  with  drink  at  Easter, 
and  he  ran  at  folks  with  a  pitchfork." 

"This  is  an  entirely  different  case,"  said  Dr. 
Spott.  "There  is  no  danger  —  at  present.  The 


THE  KINSMAN  133 

first  stages  of  the  disease  are  often  marked  by 
unusual  quietness  and  amiability.  I  want  you  to 
behave  just  as  usual  to  him,  and  perhaps  you  had 
better  not  mention  that  I  am  coming  on  Mon- 
day. He  seems  to  have. taken  a  dislike  to  me. 
I  am  not  surprised.  These  unreasonable  symp- 
toms are  quite  in  the  regular  course." 

Julia  believed  blindly  in  her  medicine  man,  but 
it  was  evening  before  she  summoned  up  courage 
to  approach  Roger  again.  He  was  sitting  at  the 
window  which  had  a  view  of  the  sea,  and  though 
the  sunset  sky  was  rosy  and  the  swallows  were 
busy,  he  looked  as  if  nothing  in  the  landscape 
could  delight  him.  He  had  been  eating  his  heart 
out  all  day  in  weakness,  anger,  and  anxiety,  and 
when  Julia  appeared,  he  felt  eager  to  talk  to  her. 
He  had  tried  to  question  Mrs.  Martin  when  she 
brought  him  his  dinner,  but  he  could  get  nothing 
from  her  but  a  vacant  stare  and  an  exhortation 
not  to  worry. 

"Come  in,  Miss  Martin,"  said  Roger,  for  the 
girl  stood  doubtfully  in  the  open  doorway.  At 
his  invitation  she  advanced  towards  the  window. 

"I  want  you  to  write  a  couple  of  letters  for  me," 
he  went  on;  "will  you  do  it?" 

"What  sort  of  letters?"  asked  Julia. 


134  THE   KINSMAN 

"One  will  be  to  a  bank  and  one  to  the  people 
who  are  expecting  me  to  stay  with  them.  I  must 
sign  them  as  well  as  I  can,  but  I'm  afraid  no  one 
will  recognize  my  signature." 

He  held  out  the  envelope  on  which  he  had  writ- 
ten "  Roger  Blois."  The  girl  took  it  from  him  and 
looked  at  it. 

"If  you're  this  man,  where  is  my  Bert?"  she 
said. 

"That  is  what  I  have  to  find  out,"  said  Roger. 

Julia  looked  at  him  searchingly.  She  had  only 
known  her  Bert  two  days,  and  she  was  not  an 
observant  girl.  The  superficial  resemblance  be- 
tween the  two  men  was  amazing  —  as  amazing 
and  perplexing  as  it  sometimes  is  between  twins. 
The  girl  saw  the  same  clothes  and,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  the  same  man.  The  man  was  a 
little  paler,  a  good  deal  sterner,  disfigured  by  a 
ten  days'  beard,  and  he  did  not  speak  like  Bert. 
In  some  ways  she  liked  him  better  since  his  illness ; 
yet  she  felt  herself  set  farther  from  him. 

"Did  Dr.  Spott  tell  you  that  I  met  Mr.  Gam- 
mage  in  Coffin  Bay?"  pursued  Roger.  "We 
are  actually  second  cousins.  I  meant  to  help 
him." 

The  extent  to  which  Mr.  Gammage  had  prob- 


THE    KINSMAN  135 

ably  helped  himself  by  this  time  crossed  Roger's 
mind  like  a  flame  and  checked  further  speech. 

"Dr.  Spott  calls  it  a  hallercination,  which  is 
Greek  for  nonsense,"  said  Julia,  sullenly.  "He 
say  he  won't  deny  you  met  someone,  and  now 
you  think  you'm  him." 

"If  only  I  could  write,"  said  Roger,  "and  I 
ought  to  send  two  telegrams  at  once.  But  I  can 
find  no  money.  My  pockets  are  empty." 

"'Twas  mother  emptied  them,"  said  Julia, 
simply.  "Farther  won't  give  her  a  sixpence,  and 
she  has  had  to  buy  a  lot  o'  things  for  you.  She 
said  'twas  only  fair  to  use  what  you  had  as  far 
as  it  would  go." 

"Certainly,"  said  Roger.  "But  I  suppose  some 
of  you  can  lend  me  a  shilling  for  a  couple  of  tele- 
grams." 

"I  haven't  a  sixpence  except  in  my  china  pig," 
said  Julia,  "and  I  wouldn't  break  that  just  for 
telegrams  if  it  was  ever  so.  Why  won't  letters 
do?  I've  got  twopence  for  stamps." 

"Do  you  believe  my  story?" 

"How  can  I?  Seein'  is  believin',  isn't  it?  and 
there  you  sit  as  large  as  life.  Oh,  Bert,  do  leave 
off  and  be  yourself  again !  " 

Roger's  face  only  darkened  as  the  girl  made  this 


136  THE   KINSMAN 

appeal.  He  felt  sorry  for  her,  but  her  blindness 
made  his  difficulties  more  serious  than  he  had  at 
first  expected  them  to  be.  He  had  not  thought 
of  anything  worse  than  the  need  of  catching  and 
punishing  Mr.  Gammage. 

"Will  you  write  the  two  letters  for  me?"  he 
said. 

"I  must  look  if  there  be  any  ink  in  the  house," 
said  Julia,  unwillingly. 

She  went  away  and  came  back  with  a  small 
bottle  of  ink  and  some  pink  scalloped  paper  deco- 
rated with  trails  of  blue  forget-me-nots.  Roger 
suppressed  his  feelings  at  the  sight  of  it  and  waited 
for  her  to  sit  down. 

"The  ink  bottle  was  empty,"  said  Julia,  "but 
I've  put  a  drop  of  vinegar  in  and  stirred  it  with  a 
skewer.  You'll  have  to  tell  me  how  to  spell  the 
hard  words  —  if  you  know  yourself." 

Roger  had  been  meditating  the  terms  in  which 
he  should  address  both  Colonel  Blois  and  the  bank 
on  which  his  letter  of  credit  was  drawn.  He  had 
to  warn  them  of  a  possible  impostor,  and  to  do  so 
in  language  that  did  not  wound  Julia's  feelings  too 
deeply.  He  was  sorry  enough  to  make  her  an  inter- 
mediary, but  he  had  no  one  else  at  hand,  and  there 
was  no  time  to  be  lost.  So,  in  temperate  phrases 


THE   KINSMAN  137 

that  were  far  from  expressing  his  feelings,  he  dic- 
tated a  letter  to  his  bankers,  requesting  them  not 
to  honour  any  draft  presented  in  his  name,  and 
a  letter  to  Colonel  Blois,  saying  that  he  had  had  an 
accident,  but  hoped  to  be  at  Greymarsh  in  about  a 
week.  He  affixed  his  trembling  and  illegible  sig- 
nature to  both  documents  and  wondered  what 
his  correspondents  would  think  of  Julia's  sta- 
tionery and  Julia's  writing.  The  spelling  he  had 
superintended,  and  the  transaction  had  been  a 
slow  one  in  consequence.  When  it  was  finished 
Julia  stared  at  the  envelopes. 

"If  you  were  not  Bert,  it  wouldn't  be  very  nice 
for  him  when  these  arrived,"  she  said. 

" That's  his  look-out,"  said  Roger.  "He  has 
walked  off  with  my  clothes  and  name  and  money. 
There  was  a  hundred  pounds  in  my  pocketbook." 

"A  hundred  pounds,"  said  Julia,  her  face  fall- 
ing with  fright.  "Do  you  mean  that  Bert  is  a 
thief?" 

Roger's  gesture  answered  her.  He  did  not 
speak. 

"Would  he  have  to  go  to  prison?"  the  girl  went 
on. 

"He  deserves  to  go." 

She  shifted  the  letters  uncertainly  in  her  hands, 


138  THE  KINSMAN 

looked  at  them,  looked  out  of  the  window,  mur- 
mured something  about  stamps,  and  left  the  room. 
It  was  nearly  half  an  hour  before  she  came  back, 
the  swallows  were  gone  now,  the  sky  starlit  al- 
ready, and  the  room  almost  dark.  Roger  felt 
rather  than  saw  a  little  heap  of  paper  scraps  that 
Julia  put  into  his  hands. 

"What  are  these?"  he  said  in  surprise. 

"I  could  have  burnt  them,"  she  said,  and  her 
voice  showed  both  fear  and  agitation.  "  You'd 
never  have  known  —  and  I  nearly  did  —  but  that 
didn't  seem  fair  either.  But  I've  thought  it  all 
over,  and  I  won't  write  no  letters  to  colonels  and 
bankers  for  you.  If  you'm  not  Bert,  they'd  be 
enough  to  send  him  to  prison." 

Roger  realised  that  he  had  wasted  time  and 
that  to-morrow  he  must  find  another  secretary. 
But  he  smiled  reassuringly  at  the  girl. 

"I  believe  you  are  right,"  he  said;  "I  ought 
never  to  have  asked  you." 

To  his  great  distress  and  embarrassment,  Julia, 
who  had  expected  an  outburst  of  anger,  melted  at 
his  feet,  got  hold  of  his  empty  hand,  and  covered 
it  with  passionate  kisses. 

"Oh,  Bert,  I  thought  you'd  want  to  kill  me," 
she  said.  "Feel  how  my  heart  beats." 


THE  KINSMAN  139 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  Roger,  helplessly,  "I  really 
am  not  Bert.  I  wish  you'd  believe  it.  If  Bert 
was  here,  you  know,  he  wouldn't  like  it." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Julia,  impulsively;  "I  like 
you." 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHEN  Roger  found  out  the  trick  his  kinsman 
had  played  on  him,  he  was  angry,  but  at  first  it 
was  a  light  anger.  That  he  himself  could  be  the 
victim  of  anything  worse  than  a  three  days'  farce 
did  not  seem  possible.  How  can  it  be  difficult 
out  of  a  police  court  for  a  man  to  prove  his  own 
identity  at  any  moment  to  everybody's  satisfac- 
tion ?  You  produce  your  friends,  and  they  swear 
to  you  and  to  your  signature.  As  it  happened 
Roger  had  no  friends  in  England,  unless  he  could 
count  on  Mrs.  Bradwardine,  his  fellow-traveller. 
He  must,  of  course,  communicate  with  her.  But 
when  he  thought  of  the  pink  scalloped  paper 
and  forget-me-nots  reaching  that  fastidious  lady, 
he  decided  that  he  could  not  appeal  to  her  on 
Julia's  stationery.  Each  hour  that  passed  made 
his  predicament  more  serious  and  his  anxiety 
more  profound.  He  could  not  write,  he  was  with- 
out a  penny,  and  his  neighbours  regarded  him  as 
crazy.  On  Saturday  he  tried  to  borrow  a  few 
shillings  from  Mr.  Martin,  and  met  with  a  rebuff. 

140 


THE  KINSMAN  141 

He  told  the  surly  farmer  his  true  story,  and  saw 
it  received  with  jeering  incredulity.  He  talked 
to  Mrs.  Martin,  and  made  no  impression.  They 
refused  to  lend  him  money  or  to  write  letters  for 
him  or  even  to  make  inquiries  at  Rockmouth. 
They  were  busy  and  poor  and  extremely  stupid. 
They  regarded  him  as  a  troublesome  lunatic, 
whose  maintenance  bore  heavily  on  them  and 
whose  departure  they  desired.  For  three  days 
Roger  fumed  and  fretted  over  the  waste  of  time 
caused  by  his  hosts'  attitude.  His  empty  pock- 
ets and  his  bodily  weakness  paralysed  him.  On 
Monday  afternoon  he  found  Julia  in  the  poultry 
yard,  and  asked  her  if  she  would  send  a  message 
for  him  to  the  Swan,  at  Rockmouth. 

"What  sort  of  a  message?"  asked  Julia. 

"About  my  things.  He  may  not  have  gone  off 
with  them.  They  may  still  be  there." 

"Our  cart  goes  to-morrow  morning  early." 

"I  want  to  send  to-day.  I  have  lost  too  much 
time  as  it  is." 

This  was  one  of  the  moments  when  Julia  half 
believed  that  the  young  man  addressing  her  was 
not  Bert.  He  spoke  as  one  used  to  command, 
and  that,  with  all  his  swagger,  had  not  been  Bert's 
way.  Julia  looked  at  him  with  admiration,  and 


142  THE  KINSMAN 

Roger  wondered  what  he  had  done  to  rouse 
it. 

"  What  you  want  is  a  few  black  slaves,"  she  said. 
"  There's  no  one  here  to  send  messages  except  the 
cowman's  boy,  young  Billy  Gannett,  and  he  won't 
go  for  nothing." 

Roger  turned  impatiently  away,  and  managed 
to  walk  nearly  as  far  as  Coffin  Bay  that  afternoon 
himself.  Next  day  he  determined  he  would  reach 
Rockmouth  if  he  had  to  crawl  there. 

When  evening  came  and  Julia's  work  was  done, 
she  put  on  her  turquoise  blouse  and  sought  Roger 
in  the  garden.  She  was  still  persuaded  that  if  she 
found  him  in  the  right  mood  she  could  coax  him 
back  to  sanity  and  make  him  admit  that  he  was 
Bert.  For  her  doubts  were  only  momentary. 
The  alternative  did  not  appeal  to  the  astuteness 
on  which,  in  common  with  most  of  her  fellow-crea- 
tures, she  prided  herself.  She  found  Roger  sitting 
in  the  sheltered  corner  of  the  garden,  where  she 
had  spent  most  of  Whit-Sunday  with  Mr.  Gam- 
mage. 

''Better  to-night?"  she  said  cheerfully. 

"Much  better,"  said  Roger.  "I  shall  be  all 
right  in  a  day  or  two." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Julia,  with  a  sigh;  and  Roger 


THE  KINSMAN  143 

felt  her  head  touch  his  shoulder.  He  moved  a 
little. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  she. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  Roger.  A  man  can't  very 
well  ask  a  girl  not  to  put  her  head  on  his  shoulder, 
especially  when  she  has  just  nursed  him  tenderly 
through  an  illness. 

"'Tisn't  so  dark  here  as  it  was  in  Rockmouth 
Park,"  said  Julia.  "The  moon  will  soon  be  up." 

"I  suppose  it  will,"  said  Roger,  looking  at  the 
sea. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,"  said  Julia,  after 
a  little  pause  of  disappointment.  She  had  hoped 
her  allusion  to  Rockmouth  would  touch  some 
chord  in  his  memory  and  bring  back  the  impas- 
sioned hour  they  had  spent  together. 

"I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  answer  it,"  said  Roger. 

"You  won't  be  cross?" 

"I  think  I  may  promise  not  to  be  cross." 

"Was  there  ever  anything  between  you  and 
Florrie?" 

"What  Florrie?" 

"Florrie  Martin  —  my  cousin  —  at  Barnes." 

"My  dear  girl,  how  should  I  know  you  had  a 
cousin  at  Barnes?  Where  is  Barnes?"  said  the 
Australian. 


144  THE  KINSMAN 

"0  dear,  0  dear,"  moaned  Julia,  her  head 
still  on  his  shoulder,  and  the  next  moment  Roger 
felt  his  hand  seized  in  an  affectionate  grasp. 

"'Tis  no  use  your  going  back  there,  you  know," 
the  girl  continued.  "  They've  given  your  room 
to  Mr.  Salter,  they  say,  an'  how  are  you  going 
to  earn  your  living  now  you  can't  write?" 

Roger  remembered  that  Mr.  Gammage  had 
owned  to  being  a  clerk. 

"I  wish  I  could  get  up  to  London,"  he  said. 
"Have  you  his  business  address?" 

"If  you've  forgotten  it,  I  might  get  it  from 
Florrie,"  said  Julia. 

"I  wish  you  would." 

"But  you  had  a  letter  from  London  that  Tues- 
day morning,  and  there  seemed  to  be  something 
upsetting  in  it  —  the  one  I  wanted  to  see  and  you 
wouldn't  let  me." 

"It  isn't  in  my  pockets,"  said  Roger,  feeling  in 
them. 

"I  know,"  said  Julia.  "You  must  have  lost  it 
or  thrown  it  away  that  morning  you  went  out.  I 
can't  think  what  you'm  going  to  do,  Bert.  Have 
you  any  idea  yourself?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  Roger,  grimly,  and  then  he 
turned  silent.  He  could  not  tell  her  that  as  soon 


THE  KINSMAN  145 

as  his  feet  would  carry  him  he  meant  to  go  to  the 
Rockmouth  police  and  put  them  on  the  trail  of 
Mr.  Gammage.  After  a  decent  pause  he  said  he 
was  tired  and  would  go  indoors  now.  Poor  Julia 
walked  beside  him,  very  unhappy,  because  she 
loved  Bert  better  now  than  she  had  done  before 
his  accident,  and  she  thought  his  love  had  un- 
accountably cooled.  He  seemed,  in  spite  of  his 
unvarying  kindness,  to  keep  her  at  arm's  length; 
even  when  her  head  rested  on  his  shoulder  she  had 
felt  his  irresponsiveness,  and  she  had  never  dared 
to  kiss  him  since  he  first  came  to  his  senses,  if 
his  present  state  of  mind  could  be  called  sensible. 
She  did  not  know  what  to  hope  or  what  to  believe. 
But  next  day  the  farm- cart  went  to  Rockmouth 
and  returned  with  a  message  from  the  Swan.  A 
Mr.  Blois  had  arrived  there  on  Whit-Monday 
and  had  left  next  day,  taking  all  his  luggage 
with  him.  One  of  the  passengers  from  the  Elec- 
tric who  had  dined  with  him  the  night  before  had 
travelled  by  the  same  train.  Julia's  doubts  now 
resolved  themselves  into  a  conviction  that  Dr. 
Spott  was  right,  and  that  poor  Bert  was  crazy. 
The  carter  told  her  the  landlord  of  the  Swan  had 
been  very  short  with  him  and  said  he  knew  all 
about  the  chap  at  Trevalla,  because  the  doctor 


146  THE   KINSMAN 

had  been  there  yesterday  plaguing  him  with  ques- 
tions. There  was  nothing  at  the  Swan  for  any- 
one of  that  kind. 

Julia  went  slowly  into  the  garden,  dreading  the  ? 
effect  of   her  news  and  wishing  she  could   with- 
hold it.     But  the  moment  Roger  saw  her  he  asked 
eagerly  if  the  cart  was  back. 

"Yes,  'tis  back,"  she  said. 

"Have  they  sent  my  things?" 

Julia  shook  her  head.  Roger  had  braced  him- 
self to  bear  this  blow ;  yet  when  it  fell,  for  the 
moment  it  turned  him  dizzy. 

"Then  he  has  stolen  them,"  he  said  to  himself, 
rather  than  to  her.  He  stared  in  perplexity  and 
anger  at  the  sea. 

"There  was  a  Mr.  Blois,"  said  Julia,  "but  he 
left  on  Tuesday  and  took  his  things  with  him. 
His  fellow-passenger  knew  him  and  travelled  with 
him,  the  landlord  says.  Oh,  Bert,  can't  I  help  you 
remember  and  be  yourself  again?  What's  the 
good  of  going  on  like  this  ?  It  only  makes  every- 
one think  you'm  crazy." 

Roger  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly  and 
walked  away  from  the  girl.  His  fix  had  now  be- 
come a  serious  one,  for  the  want  of  money  ham- 
pered him  at  every  turn.  He  made  up  his  mind 


THE   KINSMAN  147 

that  he  must  go  to  Rockmouth  at  once,  without 
the  shave  he  so  impatiently  desired  and  in  the 
clothes  that  seemed  to  him  only  a  little  less  gro- 
tesque and  disfiguring  than  the  clothes  of  a  convict. 

"I'm  going  to  Rockmouth  myself,"  he  said, 
coming  back  to  Julia,  who  had  watched  his  brood- 
ing meditation  in  anxiety. 

"What  for?  You'm  not  strong  enough  to  walk 
both  ways  yet,  and  farther  will  never  send  the 
horse  a  second  time." 

"I  am  strong  enough  to  do  what  is  necessary," 
said  Roger,  and  without  further  argument  he 
started,  wondering  as  he  went  along  what  sort  of 
horror  he  must  look  with  his  sunken  face  and 
fourteen  days'  beard.  Perhaps  it  was  his  appear- 
ance that  led  a  passing  farmer  to  offer  him  a  lift 
and  take  him  within  half  a  mile  of  the  town.  In 
spite  of  this  luck,  however,  he  felt  weak  and  hot 
and  dusty  when  he  reached  the  police  station,  and 
he  saw  in  the  face  of  the  constable  who  received  him 
a  swift,  disapproving  register  of  his  seedy  outside. 

"I  have  come  here,"  he  said,  "to  charge  a  man 
called  Herbert  Gammage  with  stealing  my  clothes 
from  the  shore  and  my  trunks  from  the  Swan. 
I  want  you  to  find  him." 

He  made  his  story  short  because  he  knew  he  had 


148  THE  KINSMAN 

no  strength  to  tell  a  long  one.  His  voice  warned 
him,  and  the  way  things  were  beginning  to  go 
round.  When  he  had  spoken,  he  sank  on  a  bench 
and  shut  his  eyes.  The  constable,  a  rustic  dog  in 
office,  an  underling  both  stupid  and  conceited, 
looked  him  over. 

"Say  that  again,"  he  ordered. 

Roger,  with  a  sense  of  exasperation,  did  so.  He  was 
sure  the  man  had  heard  well  enough  the  first  time. 

"How  could  he  steal  your  trunks  from  the 
Swan?"  said  the  constable.  "If  you  were  staying 
there,  they  would  have  knowed  you." 

"He  was  extraordinarily  like  me,"  said  Roger, 
recognising  again  how  difficult  it  was  to  give  his 
true  story  any  semblance  of  truth. 

"How  did  he  get  your  clothes?" 

"He  stole  them  while  I  was  in  the  water." 

"Did  you  see  him  do  it?" 

"No.  I  was  nearly  drowned  and  picked  up  by 
a  fishing  boat.  I've  been  a  fortnight  at  Trevalla." 

The  constable  rose. 

"I'll  come  along  to  the  Swan  with  'e  and  hear 
what  Mr.  Birch  has  to  say,"  he  vouchsafed.  "I 
can't  make  head  or  tail  of  it.  It's  my  belief  the 
water's  still  in  your  brain  —  if  you  were  ever  in 
the  water." 


THE   KINSMAN  149 

Roger  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  the  two  men  left 
the  police  station  together.  The  hotel  was  only 
a  few  yards  away,  and  Mr.  Birch  was  standing  at 
the  front  door.  He  looked  up  with  surprise  when 
the  policeman  approached  him  with  a  shabby- 
looking  stranger  in  tow. 

"Can  we  have  a  word  with  you?"  said  the 
policeman. 

" Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Birch,  as  he  led  the  way 
into  the  bar-parlour,  which  was  empty.  The 
policeman  then  pointed  to  Roger. 

"Know  this  young  man?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Birch  looked  more  closely  at  Roger,  seemed 
puzzled  at  first,  but  finally  shook  his  head. 

"It  isn't  him,"  he  said.  "At  first  I  half  thought 
it  was  —  there's  a  something  I  seem  to  have  seen 
before." 

"Of  course  you  have  seen  me  before,"  broke  in 
Roger,  impatiently.  But  the  landlord  held  up  a 
remonstrating  hand. 

"The  person  I  am  alluding  to  is  now  doing  time 
at  Portland,"  he  said,  "for  uttering  false  coin.  I 
don't  deny  there's  a  likeness,  but — ' 

"He  says  he  slept  in  this  hotel  on  Whit-Mon- 
day," put  in  the  constable. 

"I  assure  you  I  did,"  said  Roger.     "Don't  you 


150  THE  KINSMAN 

remember  me?  I  came  off  the  Electric.  My 
name  is  Blois." 

It  was  a  moment  heavy  with  anxiety  for  Roger, 
and  his  wan  face  showed  the  strain.  He  really  did 
not  look  much  like  the  prosperous  gentleman  who 
had  arrived  at  the  hotel  on  Monday  night  and  who 
had  only  been  seen  for  a  moment  by  the  landlord 
as  he  stood  in  the  hall.  Mr.  Birch  glanced  again 
at  the  young  man's  tawdry  clothes,  at  his  un- 
groomed  face,  and  at  his  infirm  carriage.  Then  he 
beckoned  the  constable  aside. 

"Take  him  away,"  he  whispered.  "Take  him 
back  to  Trevalla.  I  don't  want  a  row  on  the 
premises.  I'll  give  you  half  a  crown  if  you  get 
him  off  quietly." 

"Why,  what's  up?"  said  the  constable. 

"He's  a  young  chap  that  has  been  half  drowned 
and  knocked  about  against  the  rock  and  he's 
dotty.  Dr.  Spott  has  warned  me  about  him. 
Why,  that  Mr.  Blois  he  thinks  he  is  went  off  to 
London  with  a  lady  he'd  known  on  the  Electric. 
I  saw  them  drive  off  together  myself." 

"But  how  does  this  chap  come  to  know  any- 
thing about  the  other  chap?"  asked  the  constable, 
astutely. 

"They  met  in  Coffin  Bay  and  had  a  talk.    That's 


THE   KINSMAN  151 

right  enough.  Dr.  Spott  found  out  all  about  it 
and  says  it's  a  queer  case,  but  he  can  explain  it  to 
anyone.  He's  going  to  lock  him  up  if  he  doesn't 
get  sensible,  he  says." 

"Then  he'd  better  do  it,"  said  the  constable; 
"I  don't  see  as  I  can.  The  poor  chap  hain't  done 
anything  against  the  law  —  so  far." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Birch,  "but  I've  no  use  for  him 
in  my  hotel." 

"He  looks  as  if  he  could  do  with  a  meal,"  said 
the  constable. 

"What's  that  you're  saying?"  asked  Roger, 
coming  towards  them.  "I  know  this  man  has 
gone  off  with  my  property,  Mr.  Birch,  but  I  don't 
want  to  get  you  into  trouble,  provided — " 

The  landlord  turned  on  him,  purple  with  anger. 

"Get  me  into  trouble!"  he  repeated.  "You 
keep  out  of  trouble  yourself,  young  fellow.  That's 
all  you've  got  to  do." 

"What !"  said  Roger,  his  eyes  ablaze  with  anger 
at  the  man's  insolent  tone. 

"Quiet  —  quiet,"  said  the  constable,  and  taking 
Roger  by  the  arm  he  edged  him  towards  the  door. 
"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  know  me?"  cried 
Roger,  addressing  the  landlord  again.  "I'll  find 
out  what  the  law  of  the  matter  is  before  I'm  a  day 


152  THE  KINSMAN 

older.  I'll  sue  you  for  letting  a  damned  thief 
carry  off  my  property.  I'll  charge  you  with  gross 
neglect-  Til—" 

"Will  you  come  peaceable?"  said  the  constable, 
losing  his  patience. 

"Let  go,  you  fool,"  said  Roger,  losing  his  at  the 
same  moment  and  trying  to  wrench  his  arm  from 
the  man's  grasp.  But  he  had  no  strength  yet 
for  such  a  tussle,  and  when  the  landlord  of  the 
Swan  came  to  the  constable's  assistance,  Roger 
was  helpless.  A  moment  later  he  was  handcuffed. 

"I'm  stretching  a  point,"  said  the  policeman, 
"but  from  information  I've  received  it's  safer  for 
you  and  safer  for  me.  Now  we'll  walk  past  the 
police  station  and  report,  and  then  I'll  see  you  to 
TrevaUa." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"!F  you  try  to  take  me  through  the  town  like 
this,  I'll  raise  hell,"  said  Roger,  and  he  spoke  with 
a  deadly  quietness  that  was  convincing.  The  set 
of  his  jaw  found  no  counterpart  in  the  beefy  faces 
on  either  side  of  him,  and  their  wills  wavered 
before  his. 

"Will  you  promise  to  go  straight  back  to  Tre- 
valla?" said  the  policeman. 

"Of  course  I'm  going  back  to  Trevalla,"  said 
Roger;  "where  else  should  I  go?  I  haven't  a 
penny  till  this  scoundrel  is  caught." 

"I  tell  you  what,"  said  the  landlord,  "one  of 
my  traps  is  going  past  Trevalla  to  fetch  some 
ladies  from  the  White  Cottage.  I'll  send  you 
back  in  it.  You  don't  look  like  walking." 

"I  don't  feel  like  it,"  owned  Roger.  He  sat 
down  as  he  spoke,  because  his  moment  of  excite- 
ment had  passed  now  and  left  him  weaker  than 
before.  The  policeman  removed  the  handcuffs 
and  put  them  back  into  his  pocket. 

153 


154  THE  KINSMAN 

"A  whiskey  and  soda  and  something  to  eat  is 
what  you  want,"  said  the  landlord,  eyeing  Roger 
with  mingled  compassion  and  disfavour. 

"I  should  be  much  obliged  for  both,"  said  Roger, 
and  though  his  words  conveyed  no  promise  of 
future  payment,  his  matter-of-fact  manner  did. 

"I  must  get  back  to  the  station,"  said  the  police- 
man. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  my  charge?" 
said  Roger. 

The  man  shuffled  uneasily  towards  the  door.  He 
did  not  want  to  create  another  disturbance  with 
this  person  of  unsound  mind  and  most  inconven- 
ient pertinacity. 

"Til  consult  the  sergeant,"  he  said.  "I'll  see 
him  to-morrow." 

"I'll  see  him  to-day,"  said  Roger. 

"You  can't.     He's  off  duty  tiU  to-night." 

"And  you  are  left  in  charge?" 

The  man  nodded  and  wished  he  knew  how  to 
resent  being  called  a  fool  by  an  ironical  glance 
and  not  in  words. 

"I've  a  lot  to  do,  too,"  he  said  impatiently. 
"I  can't  waste  any  more  time  over  you." 

The  landlord  went  out  of  the  room  with  him, 
and  in  a  little  while  a  maidservant  brought  Roger 


THE  KINSMAN  155 

a  tray  on  which  there  was  bread  and  meat  and  a 
glass  of  whiskey  and  soda. 

" Feeling  better  now?"  said  Mr.  Birch,  coming 
back  later  and  seeing  the  empty  plate  and  glass. 

"Much  better,"  said  Roger.  He  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  and  faced  his  host.  "You  are  quite 
sure  you  don't  recognise  me?"  he  said. 

"Quite  sure,"  said  Mr.  Birch. 

"Perhaps  some  of  your  servants  would." 

"You've  seen  the  one  who  had  most  to  do  with 
the  other  gentleman.  Found  in  his  room,  she 
was,  helping  him  to  pack.  My  wife  had  a  few 
words  with  her  in  consequence.  However,  I  sent 
her  in  with  your  tray  to  have  a  look  at  you." 

"What  did  she  say?"  asked  Roger,  anxiously. 
He  had  not  noticed  the  girl  or  recognised  her. 

"Said  you  reminded  her  of  the  gentleman  she 
had  a  row  about.  That's  what  she  said  directly. 
Said  he  was  a  handsome  gentleman  and  very 
affable.  When  I  asked  her  if  it  could  have 
been  you  who  came  here  on  Whit-Monday,  she 
laughed.  Said  she'd  take  her  oath  anywhere  she'd 
never  seen  you  before." 

Roger  groaned.  He  had  not  looked  up  when 
the  girl  came  in,  and  he  understood  that  she 
had  glanced  at  a  glum,  angry  man,  unshaved, 


156  THE  KINSMAN 

badly  dressed,  and  haggard  with  weakness  and 
fatigue. 

"Can  I  speak  to  her?"  he  said. 

"Another  day,  with  pleasure,"  said  the  landlord, 
pacifically.  "I've  just  sent  her  to  the  other  end 
of  the  town  on  an  errand,  and  the  trap  is  waiting. 
It  has  to  be  at  the  White  Cottage  by  three." 

Considering  how  entirely  appearances  were 
against  him,  Roger  thought  Mr.  Birch  had  treated 
him  pretty  well,  and  he  said  so  as  he  climbed  into 
the  trap.  On  the  way  back  to  Trevalla  he  hardly 
spoke,  and  when  he  got  to  the  farm  he  went 
straight  upstairs  to  his  room.  No  one  disturbed 
him,  and  he  slept  like  a  log  till  sunset,  awaking 
much  strengthened  and  refreshed.  He  sat  down 
at  once  and  tried,  as  he  had  tried  day  after  day  for 
nearly  a  week  now,  to  write  a  few  sentences  either 
with  his  right  hand  or  his  left  that  should  be 
legible.  But  he  still  failed  entirely.  He  won- 
dered whether  if  he  returned  to  Rockmouth  to- 
morrow Mr.  Birch  could  be  persuaded  to  write 
for  him.  He  did  not  think  it  at  all  likely,  and 
there  was  no  one  available  in  the  scattered  village 
of  Trevalla,  no  one  at  least  that  he  could  employ 
without  reward. 

"Where  is  your  father?"  he  said,  going  down  to 


THE   KINSMAN  157 

Julia  in  the  kitchen.  "I  must  ask  him  again  to 
lend  me  a  little  money.  I  must  send  some  tele- 
grams and  get  some  letters  written.  I  must  get 
out  of  this." 

"Faither  won't  lend  you  a  shilling,"  said  Julia. 
"He's  that  angry  with  mother  and  me.  He  wants 
to  know  who'll  pay  Dr.  Spott  and  that  other 
doctor  he's  bringing  down  along  to-night." 

"What's  that?"  said  Roger,  quickly.  "I  told 
Dr.  Spott  not  to  come  near  me  again.  I  don't 
believe  in  him." 

"He  be  coming  to-night  and  bringing  Dr. 
Muggeridge  with  him." 

"Who's  Dr.  Muggeridge?" 

"He  married  Miss  Spott  as  was  —  but  he'm  an 
old  gentleman.  He's  been  married  three  times." 

"Where's  your  father?"  said  Roger. 

"In  the  yard.  But  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
plague  him.  He's  in  that  temper  he'll  turn  you 
out  of  the  house  as  soon  as  look  at  you,  and  what'd 
you  do  then,  Bert  —  without  a  penny?" 

"Has  your  father  threatened  to  turn  me  out  of 
the  house?" 

Again  Julia  did  not  recognise  her  lover  in  the 
determined-looking  man  waiting  quietly  for  her 
answer.  She  tried  to  wriggle  away  from  her 


158  THE   KINSMAN 

admission,  and  found  it  impossible.  In  less  than 
half  a  minute  she  had  confessed  with  downcast 
eyes  that  her  father  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him. 

"I  forgot  to  feed  the  calves  last  night  through 
sitting  with  you,"  she  said.  "But  faither  will 
come  round,  I  shouldn't  wonder,  if  you  keep  out 
of  his  way.  Only  you  don't  want  to  vex  him  by 
asking  for  money." 

"Is  there  a  magistrate  near  here,  or  a  clergy- 
man?" asked  Roger,  after  a  moment's  meditation. 
"I  haven't  seen  a  church  in  the  village." 

"  There  isn't  one.  'We  go  to  Trimaton,  a  mile 
and  more  from  here." 

"Who  is  at  Trimaton?" 

"Only  old  Squire  Bolitho,  and  he's  scranny." 

"Scranny?" 

"Daft  —  stone  deaf  —  nearly  ninety." 

"Is  he  the  magistrate  or  the  parson?" 

"He  be  the  parson.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  magistrates.  I  thought  they  were  at  Rock- 
mouth  and  sent  people  to  prison.  There's  Dr. 
Spott  and  Dr.  Muggeridge.  You'll  have  to  see 
them  now.  I'll  show  them  into  the  parlour." 

Roger's  manner  did  not  make  the  two  doctors 
welcome  as  he  went  into  the  parlour  and  bade 
them  good  evening.  He  disliked  Dr.  Spott,  and  he 


THE   KINSMAN  159 

could  not  conceive  why  he  brought  a  second  opin- 
ion when  his  patient  was  convalescent  and  had 
actually  dismissed  him.  The  second  opinion  did 
not  at  first  sight  attract  Roger  either.  Dr. 
Muggeridge  was  a  pinched,  fretful-looking  man 
with  grey,  mutton-chop  whiskers  and  a  receding 
chin.  He  hung  behind  his  burly  brother-in-law, 
and  looked  at  his  patient  as  if  he  expected  him 
to  bite. 

"This  is  Dr.  Muggeridge,"  said  Dr.  Spott,  in 
the  tone  of  genial  familiarity  that  had  a  freez- 
ing effect  on  Roger.  "I  want  you  to  tell  him  your 
funny  little  story  about  being  changed  in  your 
bath  ...  or  was  it  at  sea  ?  or  in  the  train  as  you 
travelled  down?" 

Roger  looked  steadily  at  the  man's  inflamed  face. 

"I'm  afraid  you've  been  drinking,"  he  said. 

Dr.  Spott  turned  to  his  colleague. 

"Quarrelsome,"  he  said,  pursing  his  lips  and 
nodding  his  head.  "Never  mind,  we'll  get  at  it 
another  way." 

"I've  been  to  the  Swan,"  he  went  on,  now  ad- 
dressing Roger,  "and  I've  interviewed  the  land- 
lord. He  answered  all  my  questions,  and  his 
evidence  has  made  the  case  quite  plain  to  me.  It 
all  happened  just  as  I  expected." 


160  THE   KINSMAN 

Here  he  put  one  hand  on  each  knee,  leaned 
forward,  and  fixed  Roger  with  his  unimpressive 
eyes. 

"That  story  of  yours  is  half  truth  and  half  sheer 
nonsense,  you  know/'  he  said.  "Now,  I'll  tell 
you  where  the  truth  ends  and  the  nonsense  begins. 
You  did  go  down  to  Coffin  Bay  on  Whit-Tues- 
day—" 

"Stop,"  interrupted  Roger.  "I  haven't  asked 
your  opinion  of  my  affairs,  and  to  tell  you  the 
truth  it  doesn't  interest  me.  I  believe  I've  asked 
you  once  to  consider  me  cured." 

"But  we  want  to  hear  your  funny  little  story," 
said  Dr.  Mugge ridge,  in  his  high  falsetto  voice. 
"Are  you  going  to  tell  it,  or  are  you  not?" 

"I  am  not,"  said  Roger. 

"Oh,  come  now,  my  dear  Mr.  Gammage — " 

"I  am  not  Mr.  Gammage." 

"Now  we're  getting  on,"  said  Dr.  Spott.  "I 
thought  we  should  in  time." 

"Who  are  you?"  said  Dr.  Muggeridge. 

"My  name  is  Blois." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  said  Dr.  Spott. 

"What  makes  you  think  your  name  is  Spott?" 
said  Roger. 

That  annoyed  the  doctor.     The  veins  swelled  on 


THE   KINSMAN  161 

his  forehead  and  he  half  rose  from  the  horsehair 
sofa  on  which  he  was  sitting. 

"Aren't  you  satisfied?"  he  said,  turning  to  Dr. 
Muggeridge.  "Do  you  want  to  ask  any  more 
questions  ?  " 

"I  should  like  to  ask  a  few  more,"  said  Dr. 
Muggeridge,  pottering  with  a  note-book  and  pen- 
cil. "I  make  it  a  rule  to  be  most  careful  in  these 
cases.  What  is  our  patient's  age  and  occupation  ? 
Has  he  suffered  in  the  same  way  before?" 

Dr.  Spott  left  it  to  the  patient  to  answer,  but 
Roger  preserved  a  frigid  silence. 

"I  don't  altogether  like  his  eyes,"  whispered 
Dr.  Muggeridge  to  his  brother-in-law. 

"What  does  all  this  mean?"  said  Roger,  sud- 
denly, to  Dr.  Spott.  "Why  have  you  brought 
this  gentleman?" 

"You'll  know  in  good  time,"  said  Dr.  Spott,  in 
the  oily  manner  he  considered  soothing. 

"I'll  know  now  if  you  please,"  said  Roger. 

The  two  doctors  glanced  at  each  other  in  visible 
embarrassment.  Dr.  Muggeridge  fumbled  with  his 
note-book,  and  Dr.  Spott  brought  out  a  coloured 
handkerchief  and  blew  his  nose  loudly. 

"You're  not  so  well  as  you  think  you  are,"  he 
said  at  last  to  Roger,  "that's  the  long  and  the 


162  THE   KINSMAN 

short  of  it.  I'm  not  satisfied,  and  I've  great  faith 
in  Dr.  Muggeridge.  Next  to  myself,  in  fact,  I 
believe  in  him.  It  is  merely  a  matter  of  skilful 
diagnosis.  If  he  agrees  with  me  about  your 
symptoms,  we  shall  agree  about  the  treatment." 

"Then  why  don't  you  inquire  into  the  symp- 
toms?" 

"My  dear  sir,  have  you  had  a  medical  educa- 
tion and  a  large  medical  experience  ?  No.  Then 
what  can  you  possibly  know  of  medical  cross- 
examination,  —  of  the  way  in  which  every  day  of 
our  lives  we  arrive  at  the  most  recondite  facts  ? " 

"Bless  me,"  said  Roger,  losing  his  patience,  "do 
you  think  everyone  who  isn't  a  doctor  is  a  fool  ?" 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  said  Dr.  Muggeridge, 
evidently  anxious  to  appease  and  coax.  "But 
before  I  prescribe  for  a  patient  I  prefer  to  dis- 
cover his  malady  —  when  I  can." 

"There  is  no  malady  to  discover,"  said  Roger, 
firmly.  "I  have  been  suffering  from  concussion 
of  the  brain  and  am  now  very  nearly  all  right 
again." 

"But  you  still  think  you're  someone  else,  don't 
you?"  said  Dr.  Muggeridge,  lucidly.  "You've 
admitted  it." 

"We  will  not  discuss  the  matter,  if  you  please/' 


THE   KINSMAN  163 

said  Roger.  He  got  up  as  he  spoke,  and  his  action 
was  equivalent  to  a  dismissal.  But  the  two  doc- 
tors did  not  move. 

"You  know  a  Mr.  Blois  did  stay  at  the  Swan 
on  Whit-Monday/7  said  Dr.  Spott,  talking  to  his 
brother-in-law  as  if  Roger  was  not  present.  "I 
have  made  out  the  whole  affair.  He  asked  the 
way  to  Coffin  Bay  and  walked  there  and  back. 
You  see  what  happened.  The  two  young  men 
met  and  had  a  little  talk,  told  each  other  their 
names  and  so  on  —  it's  a  curious  case  —  I  believe 
Dr.  Beltravers  - 

Roger  took  a  step  forward.  Something  in  Dr. 
Spott's  confidence  of  manner  disturbed  him;  his 
indifference  to  his  presence  stung  him  like  an 
outrage.  The  two  dull-witted,  ill-mannered  men 
began  to  strike  terror  into  Roger,  just  as  the  low- 
est officers  of  the  law  may  when  armed  by  the 
irresistible  force  they  represent. 

"Who  is  Dr.   Beltravers?"  he   asked  sternly. 

"A  third  opinion,"  said  Dr.  Spott.  "We  think 
you  ought  to  consult  him.  But  he  is  too  busy  to 
come  here.  We  should  have  to  ask  you  to  drive 
to  his  house  with  us." 

"I  am  not  going  to  drive  anywhere  with  you/' 
said  Roger. 


164  THE   KINSMAN 

"We'll  see  about  that  directly,"  said  Dr.  Spott. 

Roger  took  another  step  towards  the  sofa,  and  as 
he  did  so  he  saw  genuine  fear  in  both  men's  faces. 
Dr.  Spott  stumbled  hastily  to  his  feet,  and  Dr. 
Muggeridge  shrank  into  his  corner  of  the  sofa  and 
pulled  a  heavy  mahogany  table  closer  to  him. 

"Why  are  you  squaring  your  elbows  in  that 
absurd  way?"  said  Roger  to  Dr.  Spott.  "You 
ought  to  know  that  with  all  the  will  in  the  world 
I  haven't  the  strength  to  tackle  two  of  you  yet." 

"People  in  your  state  of  mind  are  sometimes 
impulsive,"  said  Dr.  Spott,  significantly. 

"Do  you  feel  any  inclination  to  fly  at  me  and 
my  friend?"  quavered  Dr.  Muggeridge. 

"I  restrain  it,"  said  Roger,  with  politeness; 
"  but  perhaps  it  would  be  wise  not  to  tax  my  self- 
control  much  longer.  That  table  is  in  your  way, 
I  think." 

He  suddenly  pulled  the  table  aside  and  pointed 
peremptorily  to  the  door. 

"But  I  haven't  asked  him  any  of  the  proper 
questions  yet,"  complained  Dr.  Muggeridge  to  his 
brother-in-law.  "They  are  all  down  in  my  note- 
book, but  he  won't  answer,  will  he  ?  We  ought  to 
have  begun  with  the  multiplication  table  and  gone 
on  —  " 


THE   KINSMAN  165 

" Aren't  you  satisfied?"  growled  Dr.  Spott,  and 
as  he  spoke  he  got  behind  Roger  and  stealthily 
seized  him  by  the  collar  of  his  coat.  Roger  twisted 
round  in  a  fury  and  delivered  a  well-directed  blow 
at  the  doctor's  chest.  Dr.  Muggeridge  shrieked 
for  help,  picked  up  a  poker,  and  went  to  his 
friend's  assistance.  The  Martins,  hearing  the 
shivaree,  rushed  in  from  the  kitchen  and  found 
Roger  in  the  act  of  tripping  up  Dr.  Spott,  while 
Dr.  Muggeridge  danced  round  both  men  and  bran- 
dished a  poker. 

"Help,  help!"  he  cried.  "Tie  his  hands.  Get 
some  rope.  We  shall  all  be  murdered." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  scene  that  ensued  was  one  of  wild  and  noisy 
confusion.  Dr.  Spott  swore  and  wriggled,  Dr. 
Muggeridge  issued  directions,  the  women  screamed, 
and  Mr.  Martin  advanced  as  if  he  only  half  liked 
the  job.  Roger,  of  course,  knew  that  he  had  no 
chance  if  the  three  men  combined  against  him,  so 
he  made  straight  for  the  door  before  Dr.  Spott 
had  managed  to  find  his  feet.  Dr.  Muggeridge 
made  some  feeble  attempt  to  stop  him  and  was 
contemptuously  flung  aside.  The  kitchen  was 
just  opposite  the  parlor,  and  Roger  went  in  there, 
took  down  the  farmer's  gun  from  behind  the  door, 
and  appeared  with  it  on  the  threshold.  The 
parlour  door  was  open,  and  five  flustered  faces 
confronted  him. 

"Take  yourself  off  and  your  friend  with  you," 
he  said  to  Dr.  Spott. 

"That  gun  ban't  loaded,"  said  the  farmer. 

"I'll  use  the  butt  end  of  it  if  anyone  tries  to 
touch  me,"  said  Roger. 

He  looked  a  grim  and  tragic  figure  standing 

166 


THE  KINSMAN  167 

there.  The  two  women  clung  to  the  farmer  and 
implored  him  to  come  away.  Dr.  Spott  ill- 
temperedly  set  his  disordered  clothes  to  rights. 
Dr.  Muggeridge  blamed  his  brother-in-law  for 
provoking  their  patient. 

"I  warned  you/'  he  said  in  his  high  voice. 
"The  moment  I  saw  him  I  diagnosed  him  dan- 
gerous. My  intuition — " 

"Damn  you  and  your  intuition,"  snarled  Dr. 
Spott.  "If  you  had  helped  me  overpower  him, 
you  might  talk.  What  are  we  to  do  now  ?  Leave 
him  to  run  amok?" 

The  two  doctors  drew  together,  and  a  whispered 
consultation  followed.  Roger  caught  the  name 
of  Beltravers  more  than  once,  but  he  could  not 
hear  what  was  being  hatched.  Suddenly  Dr. 
Spott  shut  the  parlour  door  and  locked  it  from 
inside.  A  hum  of  voices  followed,  and  the  sound 
of  women  crying,  a  piteous  sound  in  Roger's 
ears.  Then  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  shifting 
furniture,  and  then  Roger  heard  cautious  footsteps 
on  the  gravel  outside.  He  watched  the  front  door 
warily,  but  no  one  came  in  by  it.  Presently  he 
heard  voices  in  the  road,  and  then  the  wheels  of  Dr. 
Spott's  dog-cart  driving  away.  He,  at  any  rate, 
had  departed. 


168  THE  KINSMAN 

Roger  put  the  gun  back  into  its  usual  place  and 
knocked  at  the  parlour  door.  No  one  answered 
him.  He  knocked  a  second  time,  then  went  out 
by  the  front  door  and  looked  in  at  the  wide-open 
window.  The  room  was  empty.  The  Martins, 
as  well  as  the  two  doctors,  had  escaped  in  this  way, 
and  the  Martins  were  evidently  hiding  from  a  man 
they  believed  to  be  insane.  Roger  scented  a  dan- 
ger that  he  must  fly  as  he  would  have  fled  from 
murder.  The  two  doctors,  one  so  vain  and  both 
so  stupid,  threatened  him  with  a  fate  more  sin- 
ister than  death.  He  did  not  know  how  far  their 
power  reached,  or  what  higher  powers  he  could 
invoke ;  but  he  felt  sure  that  they  might  imprison 
him  in  a  madhouse  for  a  time,  and  he  suspected 
that  once  inside  such  a  place  no  man  could  hurry 
out  again.  He  was  tired  and  hungry,  but  he 
hardly  felt  these  primitive  needs  of  the  body,  so 
intent  and  gloomy  was  his  preoccupation.  With 
some  idea  of  seeking  the  Martins  and  reassuring 
them,  he  turned  into  a  deep,  narrow  lane  leading 
to  the  cowman's  cottage,  a  lush  fernery  with  a 
trickle  of  water  down  one  side  of  it.  The  hedges 
high  above  his  head  were  covered  with  wild  roses, 
and  foxgloves  were  flowering  amongst  the  ferns. 
The  birds  were  singing  in  a  frenzy,  carrying  to 


THE  KINSMAN  169 

human  ears  their  yearly  message  of  hope  and  joy. 
Like  a  low,  unbroken  bass  to  their  treble  Roger 
heard  in  the  distance  the  murmur  of  the  sea.  The 
tragic  contrast  that  has  hurt  every  afflicted  soul 
hurt  Roger  now  as  he  leaned  against  the  bank, 
comforted  by  the  earth  and  its  creatures,  but 
sorely  offended  by  his  fellow-men.  As  he  waited 
there,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  he  heard  foot- 
steps just  beyond  a  turn  in  the  lane.  He  looked 
up  and  saw  Julia,  chapfallen  with  fear,  poised 
for  flight,  yet  evidently  uncertain  of  escape. 

" There  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  Julia,"  he 
said. 

" Where  be  the  gun?"  she  gasped. 

"In  its  place  behind  the  kitchen  door.  Have 
your  father  and  mother  gone  back  to  the  house?" 

"They  won't.     They  say  you'll  shoot  'em." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"Locked  up  in  Gannet's  cottage.  They  mean 
to  stay  there  till — " 

The  girl  checked  herself. 

"Where  were  you  going?"  said  Roger.  His 
voice  was  so  level  and  his  manner  so  quiet  that  he 
half  reassured  her.  She  came  a  little  nearer,  like 
a  cautious  robin  you  entice  with  food. 

"I  was  going  to  whistle  for  Dan,"  she  said. 


170  THE  KINSMAN 

"Then  I  was  going  to  feed  my  hens.  I  didn't 
think  you'd  see  me." 

"Was  Dan  to  protect  you  against  me?" 

The  girl  coloured  uncomfortably. 

"I  didn't  suppose  you'd  see  me,"  she  said. 
"But  Dan  would  fly  at  anyone  who  —  " 

She  could  not  finish.  Roger's  glance  made  her 
foolish. 

"You've  brought  a  terrible  lot  of  trouble  on  us, 
Bert,"  she  said,  in  self-defence. 

"I'm  afraid  I  have,"  said  Roger,  with  contri- 
tion. 

"But  of  course  you  can't  help  it." 

Roger,  who  had  been  looking  away  from  the 
girl,  turned  swiftly. 

"Who  is  Dr.  Beltravers?"  he  asked. 

"He's  at  the  big  asylum  down  to  Rockmouth. 
They  took  Gannet's  faither  there  at  Easter.  Once 
you  get  in,  folks  say,  you  never  come  out  alive." 

"Does  Dr.  Spott  propose  to  take  me  there?" 
said  Roger.  His  quietness  misled  the  girl.  She 
did  not  gauge  the  anger  and  icy  dread  it  covered. 

"You  don't  know  what  it's  like,"  she  said  in 
horror-stricken  tones.  "I'd  sooner  die  than  go." 

"I  suppose  I  should  get  out  again,"  said  Roger 
to  himself  rather  than  to  her. 


THE  KINSMAN  171 

"Never,"  asseverated  Julia;  "them  as  goes  in 
never  comes  out.  Farther  says  so.  He  was 
against  it." 

"Against  what?" 

Julia,  who  by  this  time  had  crept  quite  close  to 
him,  suddenly  caught  his  arm  and  hid  her  tear- 
stained  face  on  his  coat. 

"They'm  coming  for  you,  so  quick  as  they  can," 
she  panted.  "I'll  never  set  eyes  on  'e  again,  and 
we'll  never  be  married.  Oh,  dear,  dear,  Bert ! " 

"What  do  you  mean  by 'as  quick  as  they  can'?" 
asked  Roger. 

"I  oughtn't  to  tell  you,  I  don't  suppose,"  said 
Julia. 

Roger  did  not  try  to  persuade  her.  She  had 
told  him  enough.  As  he  leant  against  the  bank, 
passively  supporting  the  weeping  girl,  he  weighed 
his  chances  of  escape,  and  from  one  point  of  view 
they  were  small.  On  foot  and  penniless,  he  would 
soon  be  overtaken  if  his  pursuers  were  determined ; 
but  perhaps  if  he  vanished  quietly,  no  one  would 
trouble  much  about  him.  Even  Dr.  Spott  would 
probably  not  go  any  great  lengths  to  secure  a 
man  who  must  be  a  charge  on  the  parish.  He 
pulled  himself  together. 

"I  am  going  indoors,"  he  said  to  Julia. 


172  THE  KINSMAN 

"They  can't  be  here  for  a  good  hour,"  she  whis- 
pered, as  if  she  guessed  his  thoughts.  Roger, 
sustaining  a  little  shock  of  consolation  and  sur- 
prise, took  her  two  hands  in  his. 

"You  good  girl,"  he  said;  "are  you  going  to 
help  me?" 

"Faither  says  you'm  quite  harmless  so  long  as 
you'm  let  alone,"  said  she.  "He  hates  Dr.  Spott. 
So  do  I  now.  Why  couldn't  he  let  us  alone  ?  We 
were  getting  on  very  well." 

"I'm  not  mad,  Julia." 

"But  you  think  you'm  not  Bert." 

"Look  at  me.  Listen  to  my  voice.  Don't  you 
see,  don't  you  hear,  that  I'm  not  Bert?" 

The  girl's  eyes  were  compelled  to  his,  and  Roger 
was  distressed  and  touched  to  find  them  passion- 
ately adoring  him. 

"Sometimes  I  know  you'm  Bert,"  she  said, 
"sometimes  I  don't.  Your  voice  is  different,  but 
Dr.  Spott  says  that's  your  illness.  You're  harder- 
like  about  the  mouth,  and  your  eyes  look  at  me 
different.  But  you  can't  be  anyone  else,  though. 
It's  impossible.  That  gentleman  you  think  is 
you  travelled  to  London  with  friends.  Dr.  Spott 
says  you  got  knocked  silly  against  the  rocks  and 
think  you'm  the  last  person  you  saw." 


THE   KINSMAN  173 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  Roger,  "if  you  who  love 
Bert  can  take  me  for  him,  don't  you  see  that  one  of 
my  travelling  companions  might  take  him  for  me  ?  " 

"Bert  isn't  wicked,"  said  the  girl,  obstinately. 
"I  hate  your  story,  because  it  makes  out  Bert  to 
be  wicked.  I  wouldn't  believe  it  for  anything 
you  could  give  me." 

Roger  was  silent.  He  could  not  convince  this 
kind,  muddle-headed  creature  without  hurting 
her,  and  that  he  now  forebore  to  do,  as  he  had 
foreborne  before. 

"I  have  no  time  to  lose,"  he  said.  "Give  me 
some  food,  Julia,  before  I  go." 

"Oh  !"  she  cried,  "whether  you  stay  or  whether 
you  go,  after  to-night  I  shall  never  see  you  again." 

"You  shall  see  Bert  again  if  I  find  him,"  prom- 
ised Roger. 

They  walked  back  to  the  house  together,  and 
while  Julia  fetched  him  some  food  Roger  hastily 
put  a  few  necessaries  into  Mr.  Gammage's  little 
black  bag.  As  he  closed  it  Julia  entered  the  room 
with  a  tray  in  her  hands  and  under  one  arm  an 
object  Roger  did  not  at  first  identify.  He  drank 
the  milk  she  brought,  stuffed  the  bread  and  cheese 
into  his  pocket,  and  seemed  about  to  go,  when 
she  detained  him. 


174  THE  KINSMAN 

"I've  brought  you  my  pig,"  she  said,  with  the 
manner  of  one  who  takes  a  desperate  step. 

"Your  pig?"  Roger  looked  at  the  china  figure 
she  now  set  on  the  table. 

"Tis  full  of  money,"  she  said.  "I've  had  it 
for  years.  There's  the  sovereign  in  it  faither  gave 
me  on  Coronation  day,  and  there's  half-crowns 
and  shillings  and  coppers.  I  never  thought  I'd 
give  away  my  pig,  but  I  was  going  to  spend  it 
going  to  London  with  you,  so  it  would  have  been 
spent  just  as  much  if  all  this  trouble  had  never 
come  upon  us.  I  couldn't  sleep  sound  if  I  knew 
you  was  wanderin'  over  the  country  without  a 
penny  to  buy  bread." 

Roger  took  the  heavy  money-box  into  his  hands 
and  found  it  was  so  full  that  it  hardly  rattled.  He 
thanked  Julia  with  few  words,  and  was  just  going 
to  smash  the  pig  when  the  sound  of  voices  below 
disturbed  them.  Both  the  man  and  the  girl  flew 
to  the  door,  and  Roger  locked  it. 

"They've  come  back,"  said  Roger.  "I  hear 
Spott's  voice.  What  has  happened?" 

Julia  could  hardly  speak  for  terror  and  excite- 
ment. 

"If  they  could  get  two  men  at  Arbour  Farm, 
they  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  Rockmouth,"  she 


THE  KINSMAN  175 

managed  to  say  after  a  struggle  for  breath.  "I 
never  thought  they'd  come.  Faither  and  Gannet 
both  said  they'd  not  meddle  with  you." 

Roger  refrained  from  uttering  the  reproach  that 
rose  to  his  lips.  She  had  not  told  him  it  might.be 
a  matter  of  minutes  instead  of  hours.  His  bed- 
room was  at  the  back  of  the  house,  above  the  long, 
low  dairy.  From  there,  in  three  minutes,  he  could 
reach  a  road  leading  up  to  Trevalla  moor,  and  he 
meant  to  start  in  that  direction.  He  went  to  the 
door  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  said  Julia,  in  surprise. 

" Don't  speak  when  they  come,"  he  said  hur- 
riedly. "Do  me  that  last  service,  Julia.  Don't 
let  them  persuade  you  to  speak.  They  will  think 
I'm  locked  in  here.  By  the  time  they  burst  the 
door  open  I  shall  be  well  away.  If  I  hear  their 
wheels,  I'll  hide  in  a  lane  or  a  ditch." 

"But  why  do  you  take  the  key?" 

"Because  if  they  frighten  you  into  speaking, 
they'll  bully  you  into  opening  the  door." 

"I  won't  make  a  sound,"  said  Julia. 

Her  pretty,  commonplace  face  was  transfigured 
as  she  lifted  it  to  his.  For  the  first  time,  as  they 
stood  together  at  the  window,  Roger  kissed 
her. 


176  THE   KINSMAN 

"I'll  trust  you,"  said  Roger,  as  he  gave  her 
back  the  key.  "Now  be  quick.  Tie  a  corner  of 
the  sheet  to  the  bag  and  let  it  very  quietly  down 
to  me." 

To  have  this  to  do  relieved  the  tension  of  the 
moment.  Julia's  fingers  were  clumsy  with  ex- 
citement, but  she  managed  to  open  the  bag,  put  in 
the  unbroken  pig,  and  then  let  it  down  as  Roger 
had  directed.  She  heard  the  rattle  of  his  descent 
amongst  the  ivy,  but  whatever  noise  he  made  as  he 
touched  the  ground  was  covered  by  the  loud  steps 
and  voices  now  ascending  the  stairs.  She  could 
see  him  as  she  leaned  out  of  the  window,  she  kissed 
her  hand  to  him,  and  then  in  a  moment  he  was 
gone,  for  he  took  his  way  close  to  the  garden  hedge 
and  then  out  of  the  garden  by  the  back  gate.  As 
a  rough  knock  sounded  on  the  panel  of  the  door 
she  drew  back  the  sheet  and  stood  quite  still, 
staring  dazedly  across  the  pastures  that  lay  be- 
tween the  back  of  the  house  and  the  highroad 
leading  to  the  moor.  Blows  rained  on  the  door 
now;  threats  addressed  to  Roger  reached  her 
through  the  keyhole.  She  was  never  tempted  to 
make  a  sound  in  answer  to  them.  She  turned 
now  from  the  window  to  watch  the  old  elm  door, 
and  she  blessed  her  ancestors  for  making  it  stout 


THE  KINSMAN  177 

and  lasting.  Every  moment  took  the  man  who 
had  just  left  her  farther  towards  safety,  farther 
from  her ;  and  she  knew  in  her  heart  that  whether 
he  was  Bert  or  Roger,  he  was  the  man  she 
loved. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ROGER  had  to  traverse  two  fields  and  find  a  gap 
in  the  hedge  before  he  struck  the  road.  Luckily, 
during  the  week  of  his  convalescence,  he  had  got  by 
heart  every  feature  of  the  few  acres  surrounding 
the  farm.  The  main  road  from  Rockmouth  ran 
inland  most  of  the  way,  but  divided  near  the  house, 
one  fork  leading  past  the  front  gate  and  through 
the  village,  the  other  ascending  Trevalla  Hill. 
About  a  mile  from  the  village  the  two  roads 
met  again  high  up  on  the  moor. 

Roger  cut  straight  across  the  pastures,  past  mild, 
astonished  cattle,  and  through  long  grass  soaked 
with  dew.  The  road,  when  he  reached  it,  was 
deserted,  but  Roger  knew  that  half  a  mile  farther 
on  he  would  reach  a  great  upland  plain,  where  the 
way  would  stretch  before  him  like  a  white  ribbon, 
while  for  some  distance  he  would  be  visible  on  it, 
or  even  amongst  the  stunted  gorse  and  heather 
carpeting  the  moor  on  either  side.  However, 
there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  walk  straight 

178 


THE  KINSMAN  179 

on  until  he  heard  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  then 
to  take  such  cover  as  he  could  find.  He  only 
knew  the  moor  from  Julia's  talk  about  it,  and 
when  he  got  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  was  dismayed 
to  find  that  the  vegetation  in  which  he  might  have 
to  hide  hardly  reached  above  his  ankles.  He 
walked  as  quickly  as  he  could  to  the  top  of  a  great 
rolling  moor  flaming  in  gold  and  purple,  scented 
like  honey,  but  sheltering  no  creatures  bigger 
than  the  rabbits,  who  had  come  out  to  feed  and 
scampered  from  him  in  swarms.  He  thought  of 
the  bread  and  cheese  in  his  pocket  and  began  to 
want  it  badly,  but  he  still  walked  at  too  great  a 
pace  to  eat  as  he  went  along.  He  thought  it  likely 
that  Dr.  Spott  would  follow  him  along  this  road. 
Roger  naturally  knew  nothing  of  English  lunacy 
laws,  or  in  what  measure  police  and  medical  men 
worked  together  for  their  observance.  He  won- 
dered how  far  their  power  reached  and  when  he 
might  consider  himself  in  safety.  He  thought 
that  he  had  better  avoid  the  city  of  Bilchester, 
where  the  police  by  to-morrow  morning  might  have 
received  a  full  description  of  him,  and  he  made  up 
his  mind  that  if  he  needed  a  name  at  all  on  his 
travels  he  would  borrow  one. 

He  was  still  some  way  from  the  top  of  the  hill 


180  THE  KINSMAN 

when  there  came  through  the  quiet  air  the  sound 
of  a  motor  horn,  unaccompanied  as  yet  by  any 
sound  of  its  machinery.  He  stepped  a  little  aside, 
expecting  every  moment  to  see  a  car  appear  over 
the  crest  of  the  hill  and  swoop  towards  him  on 
its  way  to  Rockmouth.  Presently  he  heard  the 
sound  again,  but  no  car  appeared,  and  when  the 
horn  wailed  several  times  in  succession  he  sur- 
mised a  break-down.  For  a  moment  he  hesi- 
tated. He  could  not  afford  either  to  be  detained 
or  to  retrace  his  steps  in  search  of  help,  if  help 
was  wanted.  But  his  alternative  was  to  strike 
westwards  across  the  moor  in  search  of  the  village 
road.  He  did  not  want  to  waste  time  over  that, 
and  on  the  east  lay  sheer  cliffs  and  then  the  sea. 
So  he  went  on,  listening  with  some  amazement  to 
the  sounds  floating  at  short  intervals  towards  him. 
The  blasts  were  so  capricious,  so  hurried,  and  ap- 
parently so  panic-stricken  that  Roger  made  up  his 
mind  that  a  woman  must  be  responsible  for  them, 
either  a  woman  in  difficulties  or  a  man  with 
neither  nerve  nor  sense,  and  that  he  was  sure  to 
be  hindered.  He  looked  back  as  he  reached  the 
crest  of  the  hill  and  saw  an  empty  stretch  of  road 
vanishing  in  the  far  distance  into  darkness.  So 
far  so  good.  A  few  yards  farther  he  came  to  the 


THE   KINSMAN  181 

level  moor,  and  still  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  he 
saw  the  large,  dim  shape  of  a  motor-car  standing 
still.  He  increased  his  pace,  and  was  not  much 
surprised  to  see  a  figure  detach  itself  from  the  car 
and  come  hurrying  towards  him.  He  soon  made 
out  that  it  was  a  woman,  and  directly  she  was 
within  earshot  she  spoke: — 

"Have  you  seen  a  chauffeur?"   she  said. 

"I  have  seen  no  one,"  said  Roger,  observing  that 
the  lady  was  young  and  small  and  pretty.  She 
took  stock  of  him,  too. 

"I  can't  think  what  we're  to  do,"  she  said.  "I 
never  heard  of  anyone  losing  a  chauffeur  before, 
did  you?" 

"How  did  it  happen?"  said  Roger,  as  she  turned 
back  with  him. 

"It  happened  more  than  an  hour  ago.  He 
stopped  the  car  and  said  he'd  dropped  something 
and  wanted  to  fetch  it  ...  and  he's  been  fetch- 
ing it  ever  since.  There  isn't  a  public-house 
within  sight  or  else  — 

"Are  you  quite  alone?"  said  Roger. 

"No.  I'm  with  my  husband.  But  he's  an  in- 
valid, and  I'm  most  anxious  not  to  distress  or 
alarm  him.  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  We  can't 
move  without  the  chauffeur  .  .  and  we  have  our 


182  THE  KINSMAN 

luggage  with  us  ...  we  can't  leave  it  on  the  top 
of  the  moor.  Besides,  my  husband  is  not  fit  to 
walk  any  distance." 

Roger's  eyes,  used  to  scan  great  distances,  were 
ranging  now  over  the  moor  that  stretched  for  miles 
on  either  side  of  the  road.  While  he  searched  and 
while  he  talked  he  still  listened  for  the  sound  of 
wheels  coming  up  the  hill,  but  he  could  hear  noth- 
ing but  a  slight  regular  murmur  that  seemed  to  be 
close  at  hand  and  which  puzzled  him.  The  noise 
of  their  steps  covered  it,  and  so  did  their  voices. 
It  reached  him  first  when  they  stood  still  for  a 
moment,  and  he  looked  beyond  the  road  trying  to 
localise  it. 

"What  is  that?"  he  said. 

"I  don't  hear  anything,"  said  the  lady. 

"I  do,"  said  Roger,  and  he  listened  again  and 
then  walked  a  little  way  across  the  moor. 

"  There  is  nothing  here  but  gorse,  and  it  is  very 
prickly,"  said  the  lady;  " won't  you  come  and 
speak  to  my  husband?" 

"Look,"  said  Roger,  pointing  ahead. 

"I  can't  see  anything,"  said  the  lady;  but 
Roger  went  on. 

"Here  he  is,"  he  called  over  his  shoulder,  and 
the  lady  came  up  to  him,  stepping  gingerly  and 


THE   KINSMAN  183 

slowly  across  the  prickles.  Together  they  listened 
to  the  man's  heavy  snores. 

"Is  it  apoplexy?"  said  she. 

Roger  knelt  down  and  bent  over  the  sleeper. 

"Whiskey,"  he  said. 

The  lady  sighed. 

"My husband  is  a  philanthropist, "she  explained. 
"He  will  employ  them." 

Roger  rose  to  his  feet. 

"He  won't  wake  for  hours,"  she  continued 
gloomily,  "and  then — " 

"Have  you  seen  him  like  this  before?"  said 
Roger,  rather  astonished. 

"Not  this  man  —  but  others.  My  husband 
doesn't  take  much  interest  in  people  unless  they 
drink  or  steal  or  something,  and  then  he  likes  them 
about  him.  We  often  used  to  have  burglars  in  the 
house  —  I  mean  reformed  ones,  of  course.  I  liked 
them  better  than  the  inebriates,  because  I'm 
nervous  about  fire.  What  are  we  to  do,  I  won- 
der. " 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  consult  your  husband," 
said  Roger. 

The  lady's  piquant  face  was  turned  whimsically 
upwards,  as  if  she  sought  help  of  the  clouds. 

"I  adore  my  husband,"  she  said. 


184  THE  KINSMAN 

Roger  could  not  help  smiling. 

"If  you  consult  me,"  he  said,  "you'll  leave  this 
—  here,  and  engage  me  as  your  chauffeur." 

"You!" 

"I  haven't  all  the  qualifications,"  Roger  ad- 
mitted. "I  neither  drink  nor  steal." 

"But  you  are  a  gentleman." 

"I  can  manage  a  motor  as  well  as  if  I  was  not. 
What  is  your  car?" 

"A  Panhard.     Fifteen  horse-power." 

"That's  good  enough,"  said  Roger. 

The  lady  looked  at  the  unconscious  body 
amongst  the  gorse. 

"My  husband  will  never  consent  to  leave  him 
here,"  she  said. 

"He  is  not  in  a  condition  to  travel  with  you," 
said  Roger.  "He'll  come  to  no  harm  here.  I  sup- 
pose he  has  some  money  on  him." 

"My  husband  gave  him  a  five-pound  note  this 
morning.  He  told  us  he  could  not  get  it  changed 
in  Rockmouth." 

Roger  put  his  hand  inside  one  of  the  man's 
waistcoat  pockets  and  pulled  out  some  loose  gold 
and  silver. 

"He's  all  right,"  he  said,  putting  it  back  again. 

"I'll  risk  it,"  said  the  lady.     "I'll  leave  him 


THE  KINSMAN  185 

behind.  But  I  won't  say  a  word  to  my  husband 
till  to-morrow.  Why  are  you  taking  his  cap?" 

"I'm  going  to  wear  it,"  said  Roger,  "and  his 
leather  coat,  too.  I  suppose  they  both  belong 
to  you.  I'll  leave  him  my  straw  hat." 

It  took  Roger  two  or  three  minutes  to  get  the 
garments  he  wanted  from  the  man's  heavy,  help- 
less body,  and  when  he  had  done  this  he  left  the 
chauffeur  lying  on  a  patch  of  short  moorland  grass 
with  his  head  pointing  to  the  road.  His  white 
straw  hat  must  now  be  visible  to  anyone  passing 

by. 

"Someone  going  to  the  village  may  see  him 
and  pick  him  up,"  said  Roger,  who  now  wore  the 
peaked  cap  and  leather  coat  proper  to  his  new  po- 
sition. As  he  spoke  he  moved  briskly  across  the 
moor,  for  his  alert  ears  had  caught  a  faint,  far- 
away sound  that  he  took  to  be  distant  wheels.  By 
the  time  the  lady  and  he  reached  the  road  again 
he  heard  them  clearly. 

"My  husband  is  Colonel  Loraine,"  said  the 
lady,  "what  is  your  name?" 

"Robert  Brown,"  said  Roger,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  which  she  noticed. 

"Are  you  an  American?" 

"I  am  an  Australian." 


186  THE   KINSMAN 

"Have  you  been  long  in  England?" 

"I  arrived  on  Whit-Monday." 

"I  suppose  you  are  on  a  walking  tour?" 

"I  was  when  I  met  you,"  said  Roger. 

He  heard  the  wheels  very  plainly  now,  and 
wished  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  hurry  the  little 
lady  on.  The  moments  dragged  while  they 
walked  up  to  the  car  and  discussed  the  route 
they  were  about  to  take.  When  they  were  close 
by  Roger  perceived  a  small  muffled  figure  patiently 
waiting  in  the  sheltered  corner  of  the  tonneau. 

"That's  my  husband,"  whispered  Mrs.  Loraine. 
"Just  get  up  and  start  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
When  I  left  him  he  was  nearly  asleep.  Perhaps 
he'll  take  you  for  Dobbs." 

This  was  just  what  Roger  desired,  but  as  he  was 
more  than  a  foot  taller  than  Dobbs,  he  thought 
Colonel  Loraine  must  be  a  curiously  unobservant 
man  if  his  wife's  ruse  succeeded.  He  was  sorry 
to  find  out  at  once  that  it  did  not. 

"My  dear  Irene,"  said  the  figure  in  the  car  to 
his  wife,  "who  is  this  strange  young  man?" 

"He  has  come  instead  of  Dobhs,"  said  Mrs. 
Loraine. 

"But  what  has  happened  to  Dobbs?" 

"He  is  ill." 


THE  KINSMAN  187 

"Poor  fellow!  I  knew  nothing  else  could  ac- 
count for  his  absence.  And  though  he  was  ill  he 
thought  of  us  and  sent  someone  in  his  place.  Just 
what  I  expect  of  Dobbs.  Do  you  know  this 
young  man's  name,  my  dear?" 

"Brown.     Robert  Brown." 

"I  must  inquire  where  he  left  Dobbs  .  .  .  the 
poor  fellow  may  be  — 

"Oh,  never  mind  Dobbs,"  Roger  heard  the  lady 
say  impatiently.  "I'm  far  more  anxious  about 
you.  If  we  stay  up  here  much  longer,  I'll  have 
you  downright  ill  to-morrow." 

"But,  my  dear,  I  must  inquire  whether  this 
young  man  can  drive.  Brown,  can  you  really 
drive?" 

"I  drove  the  winning  car  for  the  Colonial  Cup  in 
last  year's  race,"  said  Roger,  who  by  this  time  had 
made  a  hurried  survey  of  the  car  and  found  to  his 
immense  relief  that  she  appeared  to  be  in  running 
order.  He  was  now  waiting,  starting-handle  in 
hand,  and  listening  in  an  agony  of  impatience  to 
the  steady  advance  of  wheels  behind. 

"But  have  you  driven  a  Panhard  before?" 
asked  Colonel  Loraine. 

"The  first  car  I  ever  drove  was  a  Panhard,"  said 
Roger. 


188  THE   KINSMAN 

Colonel  Loraine  turned  to  his  wife  and  spoke  in 
an  undertone. 

"I  don't  like  the  idea  of  a  racing  chauffeur,"  he 
said;  "the  last  thing  I  desire  is  to  race,  especially 
in  this  mountainous  country.  Brown  - 

Roger,  who  had  now  started  his  engine  and 
settled  himself  in  his  seat,  tried  to  dissemble  his 
impatience. 

"Please  to  remember  that  you  are  not  running 
a  race,"  said  Colonel  Loraine. 

"I  shall  be  directly  if  he  doesn't  let  me 
go,"  thought  Roger,  but  he  made  some  soothing 
reply  and  had  his  hand  on  the  lever  at  his 
side  when  again  the  Colonel's  voice  arrested 
him. 

"Wait  —  wait  —  don't  start  yet !"  he  heard  to 
his  dismay.  "There  is  something  behind  us.  I 
just  want  to  see  what  it  is." 

"Why?"  said  his  wife. 

"It  might  be  a  message  from  Dobbs,"  said  the 
Colonel ;  "the  poor  fellow  may  be  worse  and  require 
our  help.  Was  he  comfortable  when  you  left  him, 
Brown?" 

"Quite  comfortable,"  said  Roger,  sitting  as  still 
as  the  cavalry  did  at  Delhi  and  requiring  nearly 
as  much  nerve  as  they  did.  Every  moment  the 


THE  KINSMAN  189 

pursuing  wheels  came  nearer  and  his  chance  of 
escape  looked  less. 

Meanwhile  the  Colonel,  from  the  back  of  the 
car,  was  watching  the  curious  proceedings  of  the 
trap  which  had  just  come  to  a  standstill. 

"Bless  me,"  he  cried.  "How  odd!  How  very 
odd!" 

His  wife,  attracted  by  his  exclamation,  turned 
with  a  little  sigh,  half  tender,  half  impatient,  to 
look  also. 

"One  man  has  got  down  from  the  trap,"  said 
Colonel  Loraine;  "he  seems  to  be  looking  for 
something.  I  wonder  what  it  can  be.  I  should 
like  to  know.  Please  to  back  a  little,  Brown." 

"Won't  it  frighten  the  horse?"  said  Roger. 

"My  car  won't  frighten  a  lamb  if  it's  properly 
managed,"  said  the  Colonel.  "I've  seen  Dobbs 
pass  within  an  inch  of  a  two-year-old  child  and  the 
child  only  laughed.  Please  to  back  at  once,  Brown." 

So  Roger  pulled  his  peaked  cap  well  over  his 
eyes  and  backed  a  few  yards.  As  he  stopped  the 
trap  drove  alongside. 

"Be  there  one  o'  yeou  as  can  help  us?"  said  a 
voice,  and  it  was  not  the  voice  of  Dr.  Spott. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  amiable  Colonel  at  once. 
"What  is  it  you  want?" 


190  THE  KINSMAN 

"We'm.  up  here  looking  for  a  man,  and  we've 
found  him.  But  I've  a  horse  here  as  I  can't  leave, 
and  my  son  wants  someone  to  help  lift  the  man 
into  the  trap." 

" Brown,"  said  the  Colonel,  "go  and  help.  No 
.  .  .  stop  a  minute.  What  has  the  man  done? 
I  like  to  know  a  little  about  a  case  before  I  assist 
it." 

"I  don't  know  as  he've  done  anything,"  said  the 
newcomer  in  a  surly,  stupid  tone.  "  Didn't  get 
the  chance.  But  he'm  dead  drunk." 

"Dear  me,  dear  me,"  sighed  the  Colonel,  and  he 
stood  up  in  the  car  to  discuss  the  symptoms  with 
the  farmer  in  the  trap.  Meanwhile  the  little  lady 
leaned  forward  and  whispered  in  Roger's  ear. 

"Is  it  you  they  want?"  she  asked.  He  hesi- 
tated a  little  and  made  up  his  mind  to  trust  her. 

"Help  me." 

"You've  done  nothing  wrong?" 

"Nothing.     I've  been  wronged." 

"Now,  my  dear,"  said  the  Colonel,  "Brown  is 
wanted  a  moment,  and  the  sooner  he  goes  the 
sooner  we  shall  get  off." 

Roger  did  not  feel  at  all  sure  of  that,  but  he 
was  forced  to  comply.  The  man  in  the  trap 
seemed  to  see  that  he  did  it  with  a  bad  grace. 


THE   KINSMAN  191 

"'T won't  take  'e  a  minute,"  he  said. 

"  We're  late,  and  I  want  my  supper,"  said  Roger. 
"What  sort  o'  chap  is  this?  Why  are  you  after 
him?" 

"He'm  a  poor  chap  from  Lunnon  as  has  gone 
crazy  and  nearly  murdered  Farmer  Martin  and  his 
family  to-night.  Fetched  a  gun  out,  he  did,  but 
Dr.  Spott  took  it  away." 

"How  does  he  get  up  here  on  the  moor?" 

"I  don't  rightly  know.  The  doctor  he  come  for 
my  son  and  me,  and  we  helped  'em  bash  in  one  o' 
Farmer  Martin's  doors,  and  then  we  only  found 
Julia  Martin  there,  and  she  said  he  had  escaped 
Rockmouth  way.  So  the  doctors  took  one  road, 
and  we  come  this  other,  and  we've  found  him. 
Julia  be  a  liar,  I'm  thinking." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ROGER  looked  at  the  young  farmer  waiting  be- 
side the  inanimate  body  of  the  chauffeur.  He  was 
a  stranger. 

"Dr.  Spott  says  he'm  crazy,"  the  son  observed 
when  the  father  brought  the  trap  to  a  standstill. 
"I'll  lay  he've  just  been  enjoying  hisself." 

"Dr.  Spott  should  know  when  a  chap  be  drunk," 
said  the  father. 

"'Tis  so,"  said  the  son. 

"Us'll  tie  his  hands  first,"  he  continued,  produc- 
ing a  piece  of  cord.  "We  don't  want  a  fight  in 
the  trap." 

"Where  are  you  taking  him  to?"   asked  Roger. 

"Down  to  Martins'  .  .  .  and  if  we  don't  find 
Dr.  Spott  there,  to  the  'Sylum." 

That  satisfied  Roger's  conscience.  At  the  Mar- 
tins' the  man  would  be  set  free  at  once  and  find 
himself  in  a  village  where  he  could  get  a  roof  to 
his  head  if  he  was  sober  enough  to  ask  for  it. 

Probably  the  Martins  would  guide  him  to  one. 
Roger  helped  to  tie  the  man's  hands  and  to  carry 

192 


THE  KINSMAN  193 

him  to  the  dog-cart,  while  the  old  farmer  watched 
them  with  the  interest  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  You'm  roused  him  a  bit,"  he  said.  "Be  wary 
getting  him  in.  I'd  sooner  he  went  off  again." 

Roger,  hearing  this,  handled  the  man  as  if  he  was 
made  of  eggs.  But  it  is  not  easy  to  lift  a  heavy 
body  into  the  back  part  of  a  high  dog-cart  har- 
nessed to  a  skittish  horse.  When,  with  some  bump- 
ing, they  had  managed  to,  a  new  difficulty  arose. 

"This  cord  ban't  safe,"  said  the  young  farmer. 
"If  it  gives,  he'll  roll  out  and  hurt  hisself."  He 
produced  a  second  length  of  cord  and  Roger,  fum- 
ing with  impatience,  had  to  help  him  secure  the 
drunken  man  to  the  seat.  His  business  was  to 
hold  him  firm,  and  for  a  minute  the  chauffeur's 
helpless  head  rolled  heavily  on  his  breast.  Then, 
to  Roger's  horror,  as  he  tried  to  prop  him  up  the 
man  opened  his  eyes  and  even  tried  to  speak. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  began.  But  his  lips  were 
glued  by  sleep,  his  eyes  shut  again,  his  head 
drooped,  and  once  more  he  snored.  Roger,  how- 
ever, had  taken  fright. 

"I'm  off,"  he  cried;  "I  can  hear  my  governor 
tooting  for  me.  You're  fixed  up  now,  aren't 
you?" 

He  did  not  wait  for  an  answer.     The  sound  of 


194  THE  KINSMAN 

the  motor  horn  really  floated  towards  him,  and 
directly  it  stopped  he  heard  the  sharp  patter  of  a 
trotting  horse  on  the  cross-road  joining  the  two 
roads  from  Trevalla.  The  motor  had  no  doubt 
heard  this  too,  and  probably  it  was  the  little  lady 
who  had  sent  him  a  warning  note.  Roger  ran  as 
fast  as  he  could.  The  arrival  of  a  second  trap 
alarmed  him,  though  he  chid  himself  for  being 
alarmed.  He  reckoned  that  it  would  pass  him 
just  before  he  reached  the  motor-car,  and  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  walk  straight  on,  looking  neither 
to  right  nor  left,  as  it  went  by.  He  watched  it  turn 
from  the  cross-road  into  the  main  one,  and  when 
he  saw  it  stop  close  to  the  motor  he  gave  himself 
up  for  lost.  He  was  near  enough  to  hear  Dr. 
Spott's  coarse  voice  raised  in  inquiry  and  Mrs. 
Loraine's  refined  one  in  answer.  The  doctors 
must  have  received  some  information  near  the 
farm  that  caused  them  to  turn  back  from  Rock- 
mouth  and  drive  up  here  by  the  village  road. 
His  impulse  again  was  to  make  a  bolt  across  the 
moor,  and  again  he  restrained  it,  hoping  des- 
perately for  luck.  Before  he  reached  the  motor 
the  dog-cart  moved  to  meet  him.  He  walked 
resolutely  forward,  his  heart  in  his  mouth.  It 
passed  him,  and  he  looked  neither  to  left  nor  to 


THE   KINSMAN  195 

right.  But  he  knew  now  that  his  escape  depended 
literally  on  moments.  In  less  than  a  minute  he 
could  board  the  car  and  start,  but  in  less  than  a 
minute  the  doctors  would  be  alongside  the  other 
dog-cart  and  discover  the  tipsy  chauffeur.  Roger 
took  to  his  heels  as  he  remembered  the  lolling, 
thick-set  figure  of  the  man  and  the  unseemly  pic- 
ture the  evening  light  made  of  him.  A  glance 
would  reveal  the  deception.  Once  more  he 
started  the  engine,  jumped  on  to  the  car  without 
speaking,  and  took  the  wheel  in  his  hands. 

"Well,"  said  the  voice  of  Colonel  Loraine,  "did 
you  help  them  lift  the  fellow  in?" 

"Yes,"  said  Roger,  obliged  to  turn  and  answer. 

"Two  more  people  came  in  search  of  him,"  said 
the  little  lady ;  and  her  composure  told  Roger  the 
thing  he  was  anxious  to  know.  The  doctors  could 
not  have  described  him  as  a  violent  lunatic. 

"They  actually  drew  up  close  to  the  car  and 
insisted  that  my  husband  was  the  man  they 
wanted,"  she  continued.  "You  see,  he  is  so 
muffled  up." 

"One  of  them  was  not  oversober  himself,"  said 
Colonel  Loraine.  "A  most  unpleasant  fellow,  I 
thought.  I  told  him  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
himself,  and  then  his  language  became  disgrace- 


196  THE  KINSMAN 

ful.  If  you  had  been  here,  I  should  have  requested 
you  to  start." 

Roger  was  on  tenter  hooks.  He  was  trying  now 
to  make  the  car  move,  but  it  did  not  respond  at 
once.  The  clutch  jumped  and  slipped  in  a  hor- 
rible way,  and  he  thought  she  was  going  to  jib. 

"I  believe  they  are  all  drunk  and  quarrelling," 
said  the  little  lady,  who  was  listening  to  the  loud 
shouts  and  objurgations  below.  "Do  be  quick 
and  get  away  from  them,  Brown." 

"I'll  be  quick  if  the  car  will,"  said  Roger.  As 
he  spoke,  all  the  rattle  and  vibration  suddenly 
ceased,  and  the  car  began  to  glide  away  with  a 
soothing  hum. 

"They're  coming  up  the  hill,"  cried  Mrs.  Lor- 
aine.  "Both  the  dog-carts  are  coming  up  the 
hill.  They'll  be  on  us  in  a  moment." 

She  held  her  breath  in  fear  of  saying  some  word 
that  would  rouse  her  husband's  suspicions.  Roger 
did  not  speak  or  turn  to  look  at  his  pursuers.  He 
rammed  in  his  second  speed,  and  as  he  crested  the 
hill  the  third  and  then  the  fourth  speed  went  in 
with  a  gentle  click.  The  powerful  car  bounded 
away  like  a  live  thing,  and  Roger  saw  before  him 
an  interminable  sweep  of  white  road  stretching  on 
a  downhill  grade  to  the  edge  of  beyond.  He  was 


THE  KINSMAN  197 

now  swooping  towards  that  far  horizon,  safe  from 
the  fleetest  horse  ever  shod. 

"I  believe  they  are  shouting  to  us  to  stop,"  said 
Colonel  Loraine.  "  Perhaps  we  ought — " 

"Not  on  any  account,"  said  his  wife.  "It's  that 
abusive  person  again.  I  object  to  his  language. 
It's  catch  who  catch  can  now." 

For  a  few  yards  Dr.  Spott  did  his  best,  shouting 
and  cursing  his  best,  too,  as  he  followed  the  flying 
car,  but  in  half  a  minute  the  chase  was  over. 
The  car  whizzed  down  the  long  incline  as  swiftly 
and  neatly  as  if  it  had  been  driven  on  rails,  the 
moor  flew  past  on  either  side ;  the  little  lady  felt 
ready  to  dance  with  delight  and  exhilaration. 

"Now  there's  a  man  at  the  wheel,"  she  whis- 
pered to  her  husband,  but  Colonel  Loraine  looked 
back  at  the  hill  they  had  descended  and  shuddered. 
His  nerves  were  not  what  they  had  been. 

"I  prefer  Dobbs,"  he  said.  "I  never  had  any 
desire  to  ride  the  lightning." 

"I  wonder  what  he  has  done,"  thought  Mrs. 
Loraine,  her  mind  still  occupied  with  Roger.  "I 
wonder  if  there  is  a  woman  in  it  ...  but  he  told 
me  he  had  only  arrived  in  England  a  fortnight  ago. 
Of  course  a  fortnight  is  long  enough  for  anything, 
but  he  looks  so  ill  —  and  so  poor  — " 


198  THE   KINSMAN 

"The  trouble  is  that  I  don't  know  where  I  am," 
said  Roger,  slackening  his  pace.  "Where  do  you 
reckon  to  sleep  to-night?" 

"We  had  thought  of  Bilchester,"  said  Mrs. 
Loraine,  doubtfully. 

"There  is  a  sign-post,"  said  Roger,  seeing  it  be- 
fore anyone  else  did. 

He  stopped  the  car  at  the  cross-roads  and 
jumped  off.  The  little  lady  followed  him. 

"Druidstown,"  said  Roger.  "Shall  we  get  on 
there?" 

"Bilchester  is  nearer,"  said  the  little  lady. 

"Is  it  on  the  Druidstown  road?"  asked  Roger, 
who  was  anxious  to  avoid  a  halt  at  Bilchester.  He 
thought  it  very  likely  that  Dr.  Spott  would  com- 
municate with  the  police  there.  As  he  craned 
upwards,  trying  to  find  further  information  on  the 
sign-post,  Mrs.  Loraine  looked  at  him  meditatively. 

"I  wish  we  could  go  straight  home,"  she  said; 
"I  hate  strange  doctors." 

"Are  you  in  need  of  a  doctor?" 

' '  Colonel  Loraine  will  be  after  this  j  ourney .  Ex- 
posure is  bad  for  him,  and  fatigue  and  agitation." 

"Where  is  your  home?" 

"At  Wimbledon  —  about  six  miles  from  Lon- 
don." 


THE   KINSMAN  199 

"We  must  be  about  two  hundred  miles  from 
London,"  said  Roger.  "That  would  take  us 
about  seven  hours.  Could  Colonel  Loraine  stand 
that?" 

"He  says  so  —  and  I  would  rather  risk  the 
journey  than  a  strange  inn  and  an  unknown  doc- 
tor. But  how  about  you?" 

"I  can  do  it." 

"You  want  to  get  to  London?" 

"I  must  get  there." 

"Have  you  work?     Or  friends  in  London?" 

Roger  did  not  hesitate. 

"Just  at  first,"  he  said,  "will  you  engage  me  as 
your  chauffeur?" 

"Without  references ? " 

"I  can  get  you  references  ...  in  time  .  .  . 
possibly  in  England  .  .  .  certainly  from  Aus- 
tralia." 

The  little  lady  laughed,  and  without  further  dis- 
cussion Roger  knew  that  if  she  had  her  way  the 
bargain  was  concluded. 

"Brown  is  going  to  take  us  home,"  she  said  to 
her  husband  as  they  set  off  again.  "We  shall 
soon  be  at  Bilchester,  and  we  can  wire  home  and 
to  Dr.  Black  from  there.  Of  course  we  must  stop 
at  Bilchester  and  get  something  to  eat." 


200  THE  KINSMAN 

"Dobbs  seems  to  have  sent  us  a  very  capable 
man/'  said  Colonel  Loraine.  "  I  wish  he  could  stay 
on  for  the  present/' 

"He  wants  to,"  said  Mrs.  Loraine,  "and  I  think 
he  will  suit  us,  He  is  evidently  a  gentleman,  he 
has  no  references,  and  I  believe  he  has  given  us 
a  false  name.  There  is  certainly  some  mystery 
about  him.  I  hope  he  doesn't  drink.  After  a 
long  experience  I  prefer  a  thief.  He  finds  my 
watch  and  my  purse  and  goes  without  bother." 

"My  dear,"  said  Colonel  Loraine,  "that  only 
happened  once,  and  I  bought  you  a  new  watch 
directly.  I  can't  think  why  you  should  suspect 
this  young  man  of  anything.  He  comes  to  us 
from  Dobbs,  and  he  has  an  open  countenance." 

"I  was  only  trying  to  rouse  your  interest  on  his 
behalf,"  said  the  little  lady.  "I  think  him  charm- 
ing, and  I  want  him  to  be  our  chauffeur." 

Roger  reached  Bilchester  before  the  chief  hotel 
was  shut  and  drew  up  there.  Then  he  went  to 
Colonel  Loraine's  assistance,  for  he  saw  that  the 
poor  gentleman  had  some  difficulty  in  alighting. 
He  helped  him  mount  the  steps  of  the  hotel  and 
take  off  his  wraps  in  the  hall,  and  he  discovered 
that  his  new  employer  was  a  small,  fragile-look- 
ing man  with  the  eyes  of  a  dreamer,  the  mouth  of 


THE  KINSMAN  201 

an  ascetic,  and  the  smile  of  a  child.  He  thanked 
his  chauffeur  for  helping  him,  told  him.  to  make  a 
good  supper,  ordered  the  best  the  house  had  to 
offer  for  his  wife,  and  said  he  would  take  one  soft 
boiled  egg  and  a  glass  of  hot  water  himself. 

Roger's  first  thought  was  for  the  car  on  which 
so  much  depended.  He  took  her  round  to  the 
yard  at  the  back  of  the  hotel,  looked  her  over 
thoroughly,  filled  the  water  tank,  and  secured  a 
plentiful  supply  of  petrol.  After  that  he  had  his 
supper,  and  then  he  asked  whether  there  was  a 
barber  in  Bilchester  who  had  not  gone  to  bed  yet, 
because  it  was  now  going  on  for  eleven.  He  longed 
for  a  shave  as  a  clean  man  involuntarily  dirty 
longs  for  a  wash;  and  while  he  attended  to  the 
car  he  had  contrived  to  break  the  faithful  Julia's 
pig  and  take  from  it  a  handful  of  coppers.  One 
of  the  hotel  servants  said  he  had  a  cousin  who  was 
a  barber,  and  he  volunteered  to  go  in  search  of  him 
with  Roger.  They  found  him  in  a  small  public- 
house,  got  him  away,  and  persuaded  him,  under 
protest,  to  accept  a  customer  at  that  unusual  hour. 
The  change  his  ministrations  made  was  amazing, 
and  as  Roger  issued  from  the  little  shop  he  won- 
dered whether  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Loraine  would 
know  him  again. 


202  THE  KINSMAN 

When  he  got  back  to  the  hotel  the  head  waiter 
met  him  with  a  summons  from  his  employers. 
Roger  went  straight  in  to  the  dining  room,  and  as 
he  took  off  his  cap  the  light  fell  on  his  fine,  clean- 
shaven features.  Both  the  little  lady  and  her 
husband  stared,  remembered  that  it  was  not 
polite  to  stare,  and  in  spite  of  themselves  stared 
again. 

"My  husband  is  anxious  on  your  account," 
Mrs.  Loraine  began.  "He  thinks  it  is  too  much 
for  you  to  take  us  home  to-night,  and  he  proposes 
that  we  should  stay  here." 

Roger's  face  fell  with  disappointment.  "I  am 
quite  well  enough  to  take  you  home  if  you  wish 
it,"  he  said,  remembering  that  it  would  be  incor- 
rect to  urge  his  own  wishes. 

"Are  you  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  London?"  asked 
Mrs.  Loraine. 

"Every  hour  I  lose  matters,"  said  Roger. 

"But  you  want  to  stay  on  with  us  when  you 
get  there  ?  " 

"Yes.     I  want  to  stay  on  with  you." 

"I  am  anxious  about  Dobbs,  too,"  said  Colonel 
Loraine.  "Here  we  are  not  far  from  Dobbs.  If 
he  needed  us  —  " 

"He  was  on  the  road  to  recovery  when  I  left 


THE  KINSMAN  203 

him/'  said  Roger,  and  his  eyes  met  those  of  the 
little  lady. 

"Dobbs  can  communicate  with  us  when  he  is 
able,"  she  said  to  her  husband.  "He  knows  our 
address." 

She  saw  a  slight  tremor  pass  over  Roger's  face 
and  leave  it  tranquil.  He  had  reckoned  without  the 
drunken  chauffeur  and  the  information  he  could 
give  when  he  woke.  With  the  help  of  the  two 
farmers,  Dr.  Spott  might  make  out  that  Roger 
had  escaped  in  the  motor,  and  he  might  either 
warn  the  Loraines  that  they  were  harbouring  a 
dangerous  lunatic,  or  he  might  decide  to  take  no 
further  trouble  about  him.  In  any  case  it  was  to 
be  suspected  that  Dobbs  would  turn  up  again  and 
have  tales  to  tell.  Roger  could  not  put  any  shape 
to  his  future  yet.  He  must  needs  live  from  hour 
to  hour  and  take  events  as  they  came,  but  he 
felt  anxious  now  to  get  to  London. 

"How  long  will  it  take  us  to  get  home  from 
here?"  asked  Mrs.  Loraine. 

"Five  or  six  hours,"  said  Roger. 

"That  won't  do.  No  one  would  be  up.  Could 
you  take  seven  or  seven  and  a  half  hours?  " 

"Certainly.     We  can  go  as  slow  as  you  like." 

"I  should  love  to  travel  by  night,"  coaxed  the 


204  THE  KINSMAN 

little  lady,  turning  to  her  husband.  "We  have 
never  done  it." 

So,  under  protest  from  Colonel  Loraine,  they 
started,  and  for  some  hours  Roger  was  too  much 
absorbed  to  feel  fatigue.  But  in  time  the  buzz 
of  the  car,  the  dim  landscape,  and  the  cool  silence 
of  an  empty  world  affected  him.  While  the  stars 
twinkled  in  a  dark  sky,  he  felt  alert  and  awake. 
It  was  the  break  of  a  grey  dawn  that  found  him 
drowsy.  Behind  him  the  husband  and  wife  both 
slept.  The  steering  wheel  slackened  in  his  hands 
once  or  twice,  his  worn  body  cried  out  for  sleep 
too,  and  it  was  with  an  immense  effort  that  he 
roused  himself  for  a  final  spurt.  The  morning 
fell  with  cold,  depressing  mists,  the  air  was  heavy, 
there  were  no  rosy  lights  in  the  sky  yet.  He  felt 
insufficiently  clad. 

" Where  are  we?"  said  Mrs.  Loraine,  waking 
with  a  shiver.  "Oh,  this  is  Kingston.  Then  we 
are  nearly  home." 

At  this  juncture  Mrs.  Loraine  thought  her  new 
chauffeur  behaved  oddly.  He  who  had  been  so 
pleasant  and  courteous  took  no  notice  of  what  she 
said.  He  forged  ahead,  uphill  and  downhill,  re- 
gardless of  policemen,  regardless  a  little  of  the 
stirring  populations,  deaf  more  than  once  to  her 


THE  KINSMAN  205 

cautions.  He  turned  a  square  back  to  her  when 
she  addressed  him,  and  he  spoke  as  if  the  words 
hung  on  his  tongue  when  he  had  to  ask  her  the 
way.  Their  stable  clock  struck  seven  as  he  took 
the  car  round  the  semicircle  of  their  drive.  She 
felt  cold,  dispirited,  and  mystified  when  she  got 
down  and  rang  the  bell. 

"I  think  Colonel  Loraine  will  be  glad  of  your 
help/'  she  said  to  Roger,  wondering  why  he  did  not 
get  down,  too.  He  made  no  movement,  said  no 
word  in  reply,  and  that  alarmed  her.  She  ran 
forward  from  the  door  to  look  at  him,  and  when 
she  saw  his  haggard  face  she  ran  to  the  back  of 
the  car  to  get  a  flask  of  brandy  and  tried  to  pour 
some  down  his  throat. 

The  astonished  maid  who  came  to  the  door  a 
moment  later  beheld  her  master  fast  asleep  in  one 
corner  of  the  car,  while  her  mistress  was  anxiously 
bending  over  the  lifeless  form  of  a  young  man  who 
wore  Dobbs's  cap  but  was  not  Dobbs. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MR.  GAMMAGE  had  just  hatched  a  clever  idea, 
and  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  to  look  at  it.  From 
his  window  he  could  see  Pamela  gathering  roses  for 
to-night's  dinner  party.  He  had  locked  himself 
into  his  bedroom  so  that  he  might  practise  the 
imitation  of  his  cousin's  handwriting  undisturbed. 
It  was  impossible  to  present  a  letter  of  credit  until 
he  could  counterfeit  Roger's  signatures,  and  he 
could  not  vanish  without  plenty  of  money.  So 
far  his  plan  had  been  to  slip  away  from  Grey- 
marsh  as  soon  as  he  could  and  to  travel  for  a  year 
or  two,  only  returning  when  time  and  use  had  made 
his  position  secure.  He  believed  that  two  years 
hence  he  would  feel  able  to  meet  Mrs.  Bradwardine, 
or  even  any  of  Roger's  Australian  friends,  with 
equanimity.  In  two  years  a  man's  memory— 

The  pen  dropped  from  Bert's  hands.  The  brill- 
iance of  the  idea  overcame  him,  and  he  wished  he 
had  thought  of  it  sooner.  If  he  acted  on  it,  he 
need  not  vanish  from  these  pleasant  places.  The 

206 


THE   KINSMAN  207 

Colonel  had  been  almost  affable  this  morning  as  he 
took  him  round,  and  Mrs.  Blois  was  affable  in  her 
addle-headed  way,  and  Pamela,  though  not  exactly 
affable,  was  ripping,  —  more  ripping  than  either 
Florrie  or  Julia.  Mr.  Gammage  bounded  to  his 
feet,  locked  away  his  papers,  and  went  into  the 
garden,  which,  at  this  hour  in  the  afternoon,  was 
half  in  shade.  Pamela  wore  a  white  gown  and  a 
floppy  hat,  and  she  carried  a  great  flat  basket  and 
a- pair  of  scissors.  As  Mr.  Gammage  approached 
the  rose  bushes  he  thought  of  the  office  in  Wood 
Street  and  congratulated  himself.  He  had  been 
here  five  days  now,  -and  every  hour  that  passed 
left  him  better  pleased  with  his. own  cleverness 
and  more  hopeful  of  permanent  success.  The 
magnitude  of  the  prize  he  had  snatched  at  began 
to  dazzle  him,  and  his  manner  began  to  show 
elation.  That  extraordinary  moment  in  a  dream 
when  you  take  great  steps  easily  and  tread  on  air 
has  a  likeness  to  Mr.  Gammage's  mood  as  he  crossed 
the  Grey  marsh  lawn. 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  assist  you?"  he  said  to 
Pamela. 

"I've  just  finished,  thanks,"  she  said,  and 
came  away  from  the  border.  Even  Mr.  Gam- 
mage's  present  sanguine  humour  could  not  find 


208  THE  KINSMAN 

her  tone  encouraging.  She  did  not  look  at  him 
as  she  spoke. 

"May  I  have  a  rose?"  he  said  persuasively. 

"As  many  as  you  like/'  she  said  and  handed 
him  the  scissors.  Mr.  Gammage  took  them  be- 
cause he  did  not  know  what  else  to  do  and  they 
dangled  from  his  hands. 

"I  wanted  one  that  you  had  cut/'  he  made  bold 
to  say  after  an  awkward  pause. 

"I  can't  spare  them/'  said  Pamela.  "We  are 
rather  short  of  the  colour  we  want  for  the  dinner 
table." 

"I  suppose  you're  very  busy,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
rnage,  remembering  the  bustle  there  always  was 
at  Barnes  when  the  Martins  expected  company. 
To  tell  the  truth,  he  missed  it.  This  air  of  leisure 
on  the  very  day  of  a  dinner  party  seemed  to  him 
rather  cold-blooded. 

"Is  there  anything  you  would  like  to  do  ?"  said 
Pamela,  politely. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do?"  said  Mr. 
Gammage.  "If  you  want  the  wine  decanted  or 
some  little  job  of  that  sort-  I  won't  offer  to 
arrange  the  flowers,  because  my  taste  isn't  equal 
to  yours." 

Pamela  had  read  stories  of  American  country 


THE  KINSMAN  209 

life,  in  which  the  ladies  of  the  household  baked 
their  own  cakes  and  pies  and  set  their  own  table 
when  they  entertained  their  friends.  She  thought 
it  sounded  amusing,  and  she  supposed  the  same 
condition  of  things  obtained  in  Australia.  But 
when  she  read  American  stories,  she  did  not  pic- 
ture the  young  men  in  any  way  like  Mr.  Gammage. 
"The  Virginian"  was  one  of  her  beloved  heroes, 
and  she  had  envied  Molly  her  wedding  journey. 
Romance  and  reality  seemed  widely  divided  as  she 
glanced  at  the  figure  by  her  side. 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  wanted  a  game,"  she 
said.  "Do  you  play  croquet?" 

"I've  never  tried,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  who  had 
been  round  the  links  and  on  the  tennis  lawn  with 
Pamela  and  had  made  an  exhibition  of  himself  in 
both  places. 

"Very  well,"  she  said  resignedly,  "we'll  set  up 
the  hoops  after  tea." 

Mr.  Gammage  would  have  preferred  a  whiskey 
and  soda  at  this  hour  of  the  afternoon,  but  he  did 
not  like  to  say  so.  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Blois  both 
came  into  the  garden  now,  and  tea  was  served 
under  the  cedar  tree.  Mr.  Gammage  ate  cucumber 
sandwiches  and  waited  for  his  opening.  During 
the  last  few  days  he  had  considered  his  position 


210  THE  KINSMAN 

as  carefully  as  he  could,  and  he  had  quite  made  up 
his  mind  to  carry  on  his  impersonation  of  Roger 
Blois.  He  had  very  strong  reasons  in  the  shape 
of  Florrie  and  Julia  for  wishing  to  cut  himself 
adrift  from  his  past  life ;  and  if  he  was  guilty  of  a 
fraud  it  was,  at  any  rate,  one  that  harmed  no- 
body. For  he  had  found  no  papers  amongst  his 
kinsman's  possessions  that  provided  for  the  dis- 
posal of  his  property  after  death.  Mr.  Gam- 
mage  hoped  he  was  not  committing  a  legal  felony, 
and  met  the  fear  of  it  by  resolving  to  tread  cau- 
tiously and  never  get  found  out.  The  step  he  was 
now  about  to  take  was  a  step  in  the  right  direc- 
tion. He  moved  his  chair  into  the  deeper  shade. 
No  one  took  any  notice.  He  then  took  off  his  hat 
and  placed  his  handkerchief  inside  it  so  that  it 
dangled  down  the  back  of  his  neck.  Pamela  fed  her 
Bedlington  puppy  with  bread  and  butter,  and  while 
she  did  so  glanced  at  Mr.  Gammage's  manoeu- 
vres with  the  neutral  glance  of  a  well-bred  person 
who  watches  queer  manners  but  would  rather  die 
than  reveal  his  opinion  of  them.  It  was  Mrs. 
Blois  who  at  last  gave  her  guest  the  opening  he 
required. 

"I  suppose  you  are  used  to  winter  weather  in 
June/'  she  said. 


THE  KINSMAN  211 

"I  feel  this  heat,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  panting 
rather  artificially.  "Phew!" 

"You  are  in  no  danger  of  sunstroke  under  this 
cedar,"  said  Colonel  Blois. 

"You  can't  be  too  careful  when  you've  had  it 
once,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "so  all  the  doctors  over 
there  told  me." 

"Have  you  had  it  once?"  asked  Pamela. 

"Badly.     In  fact,  I've  never  quite  recovered." 

"Pamela,"  said  Mrs.  Blois,  "one  leg  of  your 
chair  is  in  the  sun.  Do  move  it." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  sunstroke,"  said  Pamela. 

"Then  you  don't  know  what  a  nasty  thing  it  is," 
said  Mr.  Gammage.  ' '  How  would  you  like  to  wake 
up  to-morrow  morning  and  forget  everything  that 
had  happened  to-day?" 

"Should  I  miss  much  ? "  said  a  mischievous  light 
in  Pamela's  eyes;  but  she  offered  her  puppy  a 
sandwich  and  did  not  speak. 

"When  did  you  have  sunstroke?"  said  Colonel 
Blois. 

"About  six  months  before  I  sailed,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage.  He  had  decided  that  he  would 
have  recovered  before  appearing  on  board 
ship. 

"You  didn't  mention  it  in  your  letters." 


212  THE  KINSMAN 

"Didn't  I?  I  suppose  I  thought  you  wouldn't 
consider  it  an  interesting  subject." 

"I  am  always  interested  in  illness,"  said  Mrs. 
Blois.  "Is  there  anything  we  can  do  for  you? 
What  are  your  symptoms?" 

"It's  like  this,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "I  forget 
about  things  and  people  —  like  I  did  about  that 
kangaroo.  Sometimes  it's  quite  awkward." 

"It  must  be,"  said  Colonel  Blois.  He  spoke 
drily. 

"Sometimes,"  continued  Mr.  Gammage,  fore- 
seeing a  future  use  for  such  further  embroidery, 
"sometimes  I  have  such  a  violent  sick  'eadache 
that  I'm  obliged  to  retire  to  bed." 

"Dear  me,"  said  Mrs.  Blois,  mentally  reviewing 
various  remedies  for  headache  and  considering 
her  guest's  complexion  thoughtfully.  Colonel 
Blois  put  his  empty  cup  down  and  walked  away. 

"I  think  I'll  take  Ruffles  for  a  run  on  the 
marsh,"  said  Pamela,  getting  up. 

"How  about  that  game  of  croquet?"  said  Mr. 
Gammage. 

"The  sun  is  still  on  the  croquet  lawn." 

"I'll  chance  that  —  for  once." 

But  Mrs.  Blois  interfered.  She  was  sure  it 
would  not  be  safe ;  she  advised  shade  and  repose, 


THE  KINSMAN  213 

and  she  was  going  indoors  at  once  to  tell  the 
Colonel  that  he  really  must  order  that  ice-making 
machine  immediately. 

"We  have  to  send  miles  for  ice,"  she  said. 
"You  might  want  some  at  a  moment's  notice  any 
day." 

"What  for?"   asked  Mr.  Gammage. 

"To  put  on  your  aching  head,"  explained 
Pamela  as  Mrs.  Blois  hurried  off.  "Mother  has 
been  wanting  that  machine  for  months.  If  Dad 
still  shilly-shallies  about  ordering  it,  you  must 
have  a  little  sunstroke  to  oblige  her." 

Mr.  Gammage  stared  after  the  girl's  light  figure 
as  she  walked  away,  the  great  basket  of  roses  on 
her  arm.  In  spite  of  her  lightness  of  manner, 
he  found  her  unapproachable;  but  he  did  not 
despair  yet.  He  smoked  a  leisurely  cigar  in  the 
garden,  then  he  dozed  for  an  hour  over  one  of  his 
Australian  books,  and  then  he  dressed  carefully 
for  dinner.  He  put  his  gloves  in  his  pocket  this 
evening  and  determined  not  to  wear  them  un- 
less he  saw  that  Colonel  Blois  wore  his.  Unfor- 
tunately, Roger's  clothes  did  not  fit  him  like  wax, 
and  the  big  mirror  in  his  room  showed  imperfec- 
tions with  cruel  plainness.  He  hoped  the  lamp 
and  candle  light  downstairs  would  be  kinder ;  and 


214  THE  KINSMAN 

he  made  up  his  mind  that  between  this  and  the 
garden  party  on  the  28th  he  must  run  up  to  Lon- 
don and  have  his  wardrobe  overhauled  by  a  good 
tailor.  Perhaps  the  one  employed  by  Colonel 
Blois  would  undertake  alterations  for  the  friend 
of  an  old  customer.  Mr.  Gammage  reflected  that 
a  sunstroke,  a  long  sea  voyage,  and  a  new  climate 
might  combine  to  make  a  man  thinner  in  some 
places  and  broader  in  others.  The  Colonel,  who 
dressed  with  military  perfection,  must  have  ob- 
served that  his  guest's  sleeves  were  all  a  little 
too  short,  but  that  might  be  put  down  to  the 
ways  of  the  Australian  tailor. 

When  he  got  downstairs  the  dining-room  door 
stood  ajar,  and  he  peeped  through  it  at  the 
lengthened  table  set  with  flowers,  glass,  and 
silver.  He  felt  elated  as  he  thought  of  his  place 
there  to-night  and  of  his  possible  place  there  in 
the  future.  From  this  standpoint  life  looked  rosy, 
and  he  thought  with  a  shudder  of  the  old  life  he 
had  so  daringly  cast  from  him.  In  the  drawing- 
room  he  found  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Blois.  Pamela 
had  not  appeared  yet.  Mrs.  Blois,  he  observed, 
wore  gloves;  but  her  husband  did  not.  So  Mr. 
Gammage  kept  his  in  his  pocket. 

"Will  you  take  my  daughter  in  to  dinner?"  his 


THE  KINSMAN  215 

host  said  to  him  while  they  were  still  by  them- 
selves. 

11  Delighted,  I'm  sure,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  look- 
ing radiant  at  the  prospect.  He  had  dreaded  a 
strange  young  woman,  who  would  be  even  less 
" genial"  than  Pamela. 

"Mrs.  Lutterworth,  the  curate's  wife,  will  be 
on  your  other  side,"  said  Mrs.  Blois.  "She  is  a 
great  traveller  and  has  been  in  Australia.  Per- 
haps you  will  find  you  have  mutual  friends  there. 
You  will  find  her  very  easy  to  get  on  with,  too. 
I  believe  she  would  talk  to  a  tramp  rather  than 
not  hear  the  sound  of  her  own  voice.  No  one 
could  call  her  sticky." 

"Why  is  Pamela  not  down?"  asked  the  Colonel, 
as  if  his  wife  ought  to  know.  "I  hear  people 
arriving." 

Everyone  had  arrived  before  Pamela  made  her 
appearance.  Her  father  sent  her  a  reproving 
glance,  which  she  answered  with  a  twinkle  of  her 
eyelids  that  was  professedly  contrite  and  really 
audacious.  As  Mr.  Gammage  watched  her  move 
about  the  room  he  compared  her  to  a  feather,  she 
walked  with  such  conspicuous  grace  and  lightness. 
He  wished  he  could  get  near  her.  He  had  been 
introduced  to  people,  but  he  did  not  catch  all 


216  THE  KINSMAN 

their  names  or  understand  their  relationships  yet. 
The  lady  he  expected  to  be  Mrs.  Bradwardine 
really  was  Mrs.  Bradwardine,  and  when  she  recog- 
nised him,  she  did  it  so  frostily  that  he  felt  crushed. 
At  present  he  was  sitting  on  a  sofa  with  Mrs. 
Lutterworth  and  doing  his  best  to  agree  with  her 
about  the  Bushmen.  Luckily  he  had  discovered 
their  existence  as  he  nodded  over  his  book  this 
afternoon.  His  answers  were  rather  distracted 
because  he  was  watching  Pamela  and  wondering 
when  he  ought  to  get  up  and  stand  near  her  with 
his  arm  ready.  Then  the  butler  announced  din- 
ner, Colonel  Blois  made  a  move  with  Lady  Stud- 
land,  other  people  followed  him,  and  Pamela 
hastily  turned  to  Mr.  Gammage. 

"I  want  to  introduce  you  to  Miss  Bradwardine," 
she  said.  "You  are  to  take  her  in  and  sit  near 
Mrs.  Lutterworth." 

Mr.  Gammage  would  have  protested  if  he  could, 
but  it  was  impossible.  As  he  rose,  he  found  him- 
self face  to  face  with  Miss  Bradwardine,  a  quiet, 
dark-haired  girl,  who  had  no  complexion  and 
distinguished  manners.  Mr.  Gammage  would 
have  preferred  no  manners  and  a  complexion,  so 
he  took  his  place  in  the  procession  with  a  dejected 
mind.  Pamela  had  disappeared  without  giving 


THE  KINSMAN  217 

Mm  time  to  open  his  mouth.  The  soup  was 
finished  and  the  fish  had  come  before  Colonel 
Blois,  scanning  either  side  of  the  long  table,  saw 
his  daughter  where  she  had  no  business  to  be, 
opposite  the  Australian  instead  of  beside  him, 
screened  from  him  by  flowers,  and  talking  with 
evident  contentment  to  Jack  Bradwardine  and 
Sir  Charles  Burnham. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IT  was  an  excellent  dinner,  but  Mr.  Gammage 
did  not  enjoy  it  much.  Mrs.  Lutterworth  talked 
of  Australia  with  the  intimate  knowledge  of  a  new 
continent  that  a  really  receptive  mind  gathers  in 
a  week  at  a  port  of  call ;  and  Kitty  Bradwardine 
asked  him  questions  about  the  Electric  and  her 
cousin,  Captain  Lascelles.  Both  ladies  began  by 
being  very  cordial.  They  were  rather  surprised 
by  his  accent  and  by  the  angle  of  his  elbows,  but 
they  did  not  wish  to  attach  much  weight  to  these 
little  peculiarities.  As  dinner  went  on,  however, 
Kitty  thought  with  increasing  wonder  of  her 
mother's  letter  referring  to  this  gentleman.  Had 
her  father  indited  it,  she  could  have  better  under- 
stood. The  amiable  Rector  did  not  mind  how  a 
man  ate  cherries,  provided  he  possessed  those 
weighty  qualities  of  mind  and  character  that  are 
alone  worthy  to  command  respect.  Mrs.  Brad- 
wardine said,  " Quite  so,  my  dear,  but  we  won't 
ask  him  to  dinner,"  when  her  husband  talked 
like  this,  and  she  always  had  her  way.  It  was 

218 


THE  KINSMAN  219 

inconceivable  that  she  should  ever  have  been 
charmed  by  the  young  man  now  at  Kitty's  side. 
It  was  inconceivable  that  he  should  have  ap- 
proached her,  except  with  a  pen  behind  his  ear 
and  a  counter  between  them.  To  be  sure,  he 
had  money,  and  in  these  days  money  can  climb 
to  the  top  of  the  social  tree,  whatever  shape  it 
wears.  But  Mrs.  Bradwardine  did  not  live  on 
the  top  of  the  social  tree  and  did  not  wish  to. 
She  understood  that  a  good  many  queer  birds 
gathered  there. 

"So  you  don't  know  Melbourne?"  said  Mrs. 
Lutterworth  with  regret. 

11  Never  been  there  in  my  life,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage,  who  had  just  put  a  shell  of  some  unknown 
mixture  on  his  plate  and  was  watching  to  see 
what  other  people  did  with  it. 

"How  do  you  like  England  so  far?"  asked 
Kitty  Bradwardine. 

11  Rather  small,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"Were  you  in  a  hot  part  of  Australia?"  asked 
Mrs.  Lutterworth. 

" Pretty  well,"  said  Mr.  Gammage;  " there  was 
a  good  deal  of  sunstroke  about.  I  had  it  myself." 

"Where  exactly  were  you?" 

Mr.    Gammage    could    answer    that  question, 


220  THE  KINSMAN 

luckily,  and  did  so,  but  he  began  to  feel  out  of 
humour. 

"I'm  longing  to  see  Pamela's  kangaroo,"  said 
Kitty.  Both  ladies  had  turned  towards  him  and 
were  paying  him  the  most  polite  attention.  He 
wished  they  wouldn't.  Besides,  he  was  hungry, 
and  they  apparently  were  not,  for  they  let  dish 
after  dish  go  by  them.  He  thought  it  would  have 
been  more  comfortable  if  they  had  pretended  to 
eat  and  left  him  a  little  peace  for  his  dinner.  A 
man  can't  enjoy  his  food  when  two  women  fix 
their  eyes  on  him  and  jabber. 

"What  kangaroo?"  he  said  rather  sulkily. 
He  had  just  taken  some  peas  and  was  shovelling 
them  on  to  his  fork  with  a  piece  of  bread,  but  even 
so  he  found  them  troublesome. 

"The  baby  kangaroo,"  said  Kitty.  "The  one 
the  sailor  had  on  board,  you  know.  Didn't  you 
bring  it?" 

"It  died,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  wishing  for  the 
moment  that  everyone  on  the  Electric  had  shared 
its  fate. 

"Died!  but  —  " 

"Kangaroos  often  die,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 
"They're  delicate." 

"How  odd!"  said  Kitty. 


LTHE  KINSMAN  221 

"What's  odd?" 

"The  suddenness  of  it,"  said  Kitty.  "Had  it  a 
weak  heart?" 

"I  dessay,"  rejoined  Mr.  Gammage,  and  then 
he  rather  abruptly  changed  the  subject. 

"I  hope  we  haven't  made  an  error  coming  in 
together,"  he  said.  "The  Colonel  told  me  to  sit 
next  to  Miss  Pamela." 

"Did  he?"  said  Kitty,  rather  surprised. 

"Do  you  suppose  hell  be  annoyed?" 

"I  don't  know  .  .  .  not  with  you,  of  course." 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  say  it  was  my  mistake," 
suggested  Mr.  Gammage,  and  then  to  his  neigh- 
bour's surprise  he  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
shifted  a  bowl  of  roses  that  hid  Pamela  from  his 
view. 

"I  can  see  her  very  well  now,"  he  said  simply. 
"Who  are  the  two  gentlemen  near  her?" 

"The  young  one  is  my  brother  Jack  and  the 
other  is  Sir  Charles  Burnham." 

"I  expect  that's  why  she  did  it,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage, with  cryptic  gloom. 

He  raised  a  glass  of  champagne  to  his  lips  and 
nearly  emptied  it.  He  was  a  sober  man,  but  he 
was  drinking  rather  more  than  he  knew  to-night, 
because  the  servants  refilled  glasses  before  they 


222  THE  KINSMAN 

were  empty,  and  without  asking.  As  dinner  went 
on  he  began  to  feel  happier  and  more  talkative, 
his  neighbours  no  longer  alarmed  him,  and  once, 
when  there  was  a  sudden  lull,  the  whole  table 
heard  him  assure  Miss  Bradwardine  that  she 
would  not  live  in  the  country  a  day  if  she  knew 
as  much  as  he  did  about  the  delights  of  the  town. 
This  sentiment  might  have  been  forgiven  even  in 
that  company  of  country  squires  and  clergymen; 
but  it  was  beyond  some  of  them  to  condone  the 
accent.  The  young  man,  however,  was  heir  to 
the  Blois  property,  and  the  friends  of  Colonel 
Blois  had  assembled  to  make  his  acquaintance 
and  do  him  honour.  Everyone  present  treated 
him  with  a  courtesy  that  successfully  hid  an 
irrepressible  inward  shudder. 

"When  you  have  all  gone  to-night,  Dad  will 
scalp  me,"  said  Pamela  to  Sir  Charles  Burnham. 
They  were  very  old  friends  and  he  knew  the 
family  temper. 

"What  have  you  been  up  to  now?"   he  asked. 

"Kitty  was  to  sit  here,  and  Jack  was  to  be  over 
there  with  Mrs.  Lutterworth.  I  changed  things 
at  the  last  moment." 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  said  Sir  Charles,  who 
for  at  least  a  year  had  meant  to  ask  Kitty  to  be 


THE  KINSMAN  223 

Lady  Burnham  either  this  week  or  next.  He  had 
been  watching  Mr.  Gammage  with  surprise  and 
disfavour  ever  since  they  sat  down. 

"I  thought  Kitty  would  be  amused.  She  can 
talk  to  you  any  day/7  said  Pamela,  who  guessed 
at  the  state  of  her  neighbour's  affections  and  had 
no  patience  with  his  delays.  She  wanted  to  be 
Kitty's  bridesmaid  this  week  rather  than  next. 

"I  wonder  if  Kitty  is  amused/'  said  Sir  Charles. 

" Can't  you  see  that  she  is?  Mrs.  Bradwardine 
travelled  home  in  the  same  ship  with  Mr.  Blois. 
She  wrote  and  told  Kitty  that  he  was  charming." 

"I  wonder  what  attracted  her,"  said  Sir 
Charles,  fixing  his  fascinated  eyes  on  Mr.  Gam- 
mage,  who  had  just  taken  an  olive  and  evidently 
did  not  like  it. 

"He's  handsome  —  in  a  way,"  said  Pamela. 

"Yes  —  in  a  way,"  said  Sir  Charles,  who  was 
plain  and  big  and  sandy-haired. 

They  did  not  say  anything  more  about  Mr. 
Gammage  just  then,  though  they  both  kept  their 
eyes  on  him;  and  Pamela  saw  that  Kitty  Brad- 
wardine liked  him  less  as  he  grew  friendlier.  Sir 
Charles,  who  was  thirty-five  and  a  man  of  the 
world,  did  not  perceive  this.  He  felt  out  of 
humour  and  determined  to  have  as  little  to  do 


224  THE   KINSMAN 

with  the  Australian  as  possible.  But  when  the 
ladies  left  the  room  Colonel  Blois  moved  to  his 
wife's  end  of  the  table  to  talk  to  the  Rector,  some 
of  the  other  men  gathered  near  him,  and  Mr. 
Gammage  —  thinking,  as  he  said  to  himself,  that 
"General  Post  was  now  de  regie"  -  walked  round 
to  the  opposite  side  and  took  the  chair  Pamela 
had  just  left  empty. 

"Now  I've  left  my  port  wine  behind  me,"  he 
said  regretfully ;  but  as  he  spoke  he  stretched  his 
arm  across  the  table  for  his  glass.  In  doing  so  his 
cuff  caught  a  slender  vase  of  flowers  and  upset 
it  with  a  crash.  No  one  said  anything  except  Mr. 
Gammage,  and  he  said  too  much  in  apology  and 
explanation.  He  mopped  up  the  water  he  had 
spilt  with  his  handkerchief  and  then  spread  it 
over  the  back  of  an  adjoining  chair  to  dry;  then 
he  refilled  the  vase  with  water  and  restored  the 
flowers.  He  felt  rather  hot  and  conspicuous  when 
he  had  finished,  but  he  turned  to  the  big,  good- 
tempered-looking  man  now  beside  him  and  tried 
to  engage  him  in  conversation. 

"The  young  lady  next  to  me  told  me  your 
name,"  he  began,  "and  I  dessay  the  young  lady 
next  to  you  mentioned  mine." 

Sir  Charles  admitted  by  a  slight  inclination  of  his 


THE  KINSMAN  225 

head  that  he  knew  his  present  neighbour's  name. 
Across  the  table  his  appearance  had  seemed  to 
the  clerk  almost  farmer-like,  but  at  closer  quar- 
ters this  illusion  did  not  prevail.  However,  with 
a  laudable  desire  to  please  his  audience,  and  led 
by  Sir  Charles's  silence  to  seek  an  opening,  Mr. 
Gammage  next  touched  on  crops. 

"Turnips  doing  well?"  he  asked  brightly. 

"I  believe  so,"  said  Sir  Charles,  rather  aston- 
ished. "Are  you  interested  in  turnips?" 

"Can't  say  I  know  much  about  them  till  they're 
mashed,"   said  Mr.  Gammage;   "then  they're   a 
second-class    vegetable.     What     do     you     grow 
mostly,  then?    Corn?" 

Sir  Charles  roused  himself  to  talk  to  the  Aus- 
tralian, but  whenever  he  touched  on  horses 
and  sheep,  two  subjects  he  thought  the  young 
man  should  understand,  he  was  baffled  by  a  mys- 
terious and  bottomless  ignorance. 

"Didn't  you  live  on  your  ranch?"  he  asked, 
at  last. 

"Not  me,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "I  like  some- 
thing livelier.  I  couldn't  stand  the  country  long 
either  here  or  there.  I've  only  been  here  five 
days,  and  I'm  longing  for  a  breath  of  the  streets 
already.  In  fact,  I  think  of  running  up  for  a  week. 


226  THE   KINSMAN 

I  suppose  you  don't  feel  inclined  to  join  forces 
and  put  me  up  to  a  thing  or  two.  Of  course,  I'm 
a  bit  of  a  stranger  in  London.  What's  your 
club?" 

"Oh,  I  belong  to  several,"  said  Sir  Charles, 
vaguely,  and  after  a  decent  pause  he  turned 
away  and  began  to  talk  to  the  Rector. 

Mr.  Gammage  was  left  rather  lonely  by  this 
move,  so  he  made  bold  to  leave  the  table  first  and 
join  the  ladies.  He  found  Mrs.  Blois  sitting  with 
seven  matrons,  and  that  frightened  him.  He 
stood  awkwardly  by  the  door,  looking  in  vain  for 
the  two  girls. 

"Are  you  going  to  smoke  on  the  terrace  ?"  Mrs. 
Blois  said  kindly,  and  he  fled  there  at  once. 
Pamela  and  Kitty  were  walking  up  and  down 
here,  and  by  this  time  they  were  in  full  agreement 
about  Mr.  Gammage. 

"Why  did  you  do  it?"  Kitty  had  said. 

"I  thought  he  would  amuse  you,"  Pamela  had 
replied. 

"But  he  is  impossible." 

"Isn't  he?     I  wanted  you  to  find  it  out." 

"Why?" 

Pamela  had  not  tried  to  explain. 

"Everything  is  horrid/'  she  said.     "I  feel  like 


THE   KINSMAN  227 

Mrs.  Bennett  in  'Pride  and  Prejudice.'  A  man 
ought  to  be  ashamed  to  grab  at  a  property  just 
because  it  happens  to  be  entailed  on  him.  What's 
an  entail?  Some  silly  law  made  by  a  lot  of  silly 
men.  You  would  not  find  women  inventing  a 
law  like  that.  They've  too  much  sense  and 
foresight." 

"Do  you  say  so  to  Colonel  Blois?"  asked  Kitty. 

"When  I  want  a  row  I  do,"  admitted  Pamela. 

Mr.  Gammage  had  walked  twice  up  and  down 
the  terrace  beside  the  young  ladies  before  the 
other  men  left  the  dining  room,  and  then  it  was 
only  Sir  Charles  Burnham  who  came  out  there 
to  them;  but  this  exactly  suited  Mr.  Gammage, 
who  preferred  a  duet  to  a  trio,  and  he  at  once 
proposed  that  they  should  leave  the  terrace  and 
stroll  about  the  garden. 

"It  would  be  rather  nice,"  said  Sir  Charles,  and 
he  led  the  way.  Kitty  walked  demurely  by  his 
side,  and  they  were  half  way  across  the  big  lawn 
before  they  discovered  that  no  one  had  followed 
them.  They  went  a  little  farther  till  they  reached 
a  sheltered  seat  built  in  a  grass  bank  leading  to  a 
second  lawn.  There  they  stopped,  and  a  nightin- 
gale sang  to  them. 

"Why  didn't  they  come?"  said  Kitty. 


228  THE  KINSMAN 

"I'm  glad  they  didn't/'  said  Sir  Charles. 

Kitty  knew  very  well  why. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Blois?"  she  asked. 

' ' Not  much, "said  Sir  Charles,  bluntly.  ' ' What 
do  you?" 

Kitty  gave  a  little  laugh  —  the  mere  sketch  of  a 
laugh  —  and  she  looked  at  the  moment  absurdly 
like  her  mother. 

"Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets,"  she  said 
solemnly: 

"I  don't  like  him  at  Greymarsh,"  said  Sir 
Charles,  and  then  they  were  both  silent  for  a 
time.  A  nightingale  was  singing  in  a  bush  quite 
near  them,  and  the  air  was  sweet  with  new-mown 
hay. 

"Kitty,"  said  Sir  Charles,  suddenly,  "I  want 
to  ask  you  a  question." 

"I  was  just  going  to  ask  you  one,"  said  Kitty. 

"Oh,  yours  can  wait,"  said  Sir  Charles. 

"But  it  was  about  hay,"  said  Kitty.  "Is  yours 
cut  yet?" 

"That  fellow  in  there  talked  to  me  about 
turnips  and  you  talk  to  me  about  hay,"  cried  Sir 
Charles.  "Do  you  suppose  I've  nothing  in  my 
head  but  crops?  Look  here,  Kitty  — 

"Sh!"  said  Kitty,  "you'll  disturb  the  nightin- 


THE   KINSMAN  229 

gale."  But  she  did  not  divert  her  lover  to-night 
as  she  had  sometimes  done  before.  He  went  on 
speaking,  the  nightingale  went  on  singing,  and 
before  they  returned  to  the  house  the  man  and 
the  girl  had  plighted  their  troth. 

"I'm  not  happy  about  Pamela,"  she  said  as 
they  walked  back  together. 

"She  is  a  girl  who  can  take  care  of  herself,  isn't 
she?"  said  Sir  Charles,  and  then  they  arrived  in- 
doors and  found  that  everyone  was  now  in  the 
drawing-room.  The  lamps  were  lighted,  and 
Pamela  rose  from  the  piano  as  the  lovers  entered. 
Her  eyes  went  straight  to  her  friend's  face,  and 
she  saw  the  radiant  light  there ;  but  Mr.  Gam- 
mage  kept  close  to  her  when  she  crossed  the  room. 

"I  couldn't  persuade  Miss  Pamela  to  follow 
your  example,"  he  said;  "she  thought  the  grass 
would  be  wet." 

"It  was  wet,"  cried  Pamela,  addressing  Sir 
Charles.  "Look  at  Kitty's  shoes.  She'll  get  a 
cold  and  die  if  she  doesn't  come  with  me  and 
change  them." 

"How  clever  of  you!"  said  Kitty,  as  the  two 
girls  ran  upstairs  together.  Five  minutes  later, 
when  they  returned,  Kitty  wore  black  shoes  in- 
stead of  blue  ones,  and  Pamela  knew  that  the 


230  THE  KINSMAN 

bridesmaids  were  to  wear  white,  because  she 
liked  it  better  than  any  colour.  Mrs.  Blois  met 
them  at  the  door. 

"I  think  a  little  music  might  drown  the  con- 
versation," she  said,  with  signs  of  distress,  to 
Pamela.  "  There  is  no  harm  in  it,  perhaps,  but 
he  has  just  told  Mr.  Lutterworth  a  story  about 
some  lady  who  said  she  had  discussed  her  affairs 
with  a  curate  but  not  with  a  man ;  and  he  spoke 
of  the  Rector  as  the  Reverend  Bradwardine, 
Kitty,  dear  .  .  .  not  that  these  little  things 
matter  .  .  .  but  he  is  so  easy  and  cheerful  to- 
night ...  I  like  him  better  when  he  is  quiet  .  .  . 
couldn't  you  tell  him  not  to  call  Sir  Charles 
'Baronet,'  Pamela?  It  is  so  unusual,  it  quite 
unnerves  me.  Besides,  it  makes  people  stare  .  .  . 
they  pretend  not  to,  but,  of  course,  I  know  they 
are  staring  inwardly  .  .  .  and  what  your  father 
will  say  when  we  go  to  bed  I  can't  bear  to  think 
.  .  .  but,  perhaps,  a  little  loud  music  — 

Pamela  went  boldly  to  the  end  of  the  room,  where 
Mr.  Gammage,  with  a  crowd  round  him,  thought  he 
was  getting  on  very  well. 

"My  mother  would  like  some  music,"  she 
said  to  him.  "I  have  not  heard  you  sing  yet. 
Perhaps  — 


THE  KINSMAN  231 

"Anything  to  oblige  a  lady,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage,  and  he  followed  Pamela  to  the  piano. 

"What  will  you  sing?"  she  said  doubtfully. 

"If  you  take  my  advice,  you  won't  ask  me  to 
sing  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  in  a  confidential 
undertone.  "I've  no  more  voice  than  a  foghorn. 
But  I  can  whistle." 

"Whistle!" 

"Yes.  You  play  the  accompaniment  and  I'll 
whistle  the  tune.  You  try.  It  isn't  half  bad." 

It  was  not  half  bad.  Mr.  Gammage  whistled 
airs  from  "The  Geisha,"  and  scored  a  success. 
It  was  rather  like  a  full-throated  thrush  singing 
to  a  piano  accompaniment;  but  just  as  he  had 
finished  one  tune  and  was  going  to  begin  another, 
Dawes,  the  dignified,  impassive  butler,  made  his 
way  across  the  room  and  approached  the  piano. 

"What's  he  want?"  said  Mr.  Gammage  to 
Pamela,  who  took  her  hands  from  the  keys  and 
listened. 

"The  carrier  has  just  arrived  with  the  kangaroo, 
sir,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Gammage.  "What  do  you 
wish  done  with  it?" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MR.  GAMMAGE  tried  to  pull  himself  together, 
but,  as  he  reflected  afterwards,  his  head  felt  like 
a  merry-go-round  that  would  not  stop  when  he 
bade  it. 

"There's  some  mistake,"  he  said  to  Dawes; 
"I'm  not  expecting  any  kangaroos." 

"  It's  addressed  to  you,  sir,"  said  Dawes. 

"I  saw  the  crate  at  the  station  this  afternoon," 
said  Kitty;  "I  was  surprised  when  you  said  it 
was  dead." 

"My  kangaroo  is  dead,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 
"This  must  be  another.  Perhaps  I'd  better  have 
a  look  at  it." 

He  took  two  steps  towards  the  door  and  then 
stopped  short. 

"Do  kangaroos  bite?"  he  asked  of  Sir  Charles 
Burnham. 

"  Surely  you  know  if  they  were  running  all  over 
your  ranch,"  cried  Pamela. 

"I  was  alluding  to  tame  kangaroos  then,"  said 
Mr.  Gammage.  "This  may  be  a  wild  one." 

232 


THE  KINSMAN  233 

"But  who  can  have  sent  it?" 

"Some  Australian  friend,  I  fancy,"  he  said. 

"I'll  come  with  you,"  said  Sir  Charles,  and  the 
two  men  went  out  of  the  room,  followed  by 
Dawes. 

"Where  is  the  brute?"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"In  the  yard,  sir,"  said  Dawes,  and  he  led  the 
way. 

A  little  group  of  servants,  both  men  and  women, 
were  gathered  round  a  crate  deposited  in  a  yard 
behind  the  house ;  but  most  of  them  dispersed  at 
the  sight  of  Dawes.  Mr.  Gammage  eagerly  ex- 
amined the  label,  which  told  him  nothing.  Sir 
Charles  commented  on  the  small  size  of  the 
crate. 

"It  can't  hold  anything  much  bigger  than  a 
hare,"  he  said. 

"I  vote  we  leave  it  alone  till  to-morrow,"  said 
Mr.  Gammage.  "What  do  you  think,  Baronet?" 

"I'm  afraid  the  little  beast  might  starve  or  die 
of  thirst,"  said  Sir  Charles. 

"I  suppose  they  are  not  dangerous  when  they 
are  small?" 

"I  should  think  four  men  might  overpower  it," 
said  Sir  Charles,  for  one  of  the  Greymarsh  grooms 
stood  with  them. 


234  THE   KINSMAN 

"We  can't  open  a  crate  with  our  hands,"  said 
Mr.  Gammage.  "We  want  proper  tools." 

The  groom  fetched  a  case-opener  and  soon  had  a 
couple  of  bars  off  the  top  of  the  crate ;  Sir  Charles 
put  his  hands  inside  and  lifted  something  ap- 
parently inanimate  out  of  the  straw.  Meanwhile, 
Mr.  Gammage's  invention  had  been  at  work 
again. 

"It  escaped  my  memory  just  now,"  he  said; 
"but  I  wrote  to  Jamrach  the  day  after  I  got  here 
and  asked  him  to  quote  his  prices  for  kangaroos. 
I  suppose  he  has  sent  this  on  spec.  Rather  sharp 
practice,  I  call  it.  Wonder  what  he'll  want  to 
leg  me.  What  should  you  call  a  fair  price  for  a 
kangaroo,  Baronet?" 

"I  never  bought  one,"  said  Sir  Charles.  "I 
don't  know  that  I've  ever  seen  a  little  thing  like 
this.  It  must  be  what  they  call  a  wallaby." 

"I  shall  refuse  to  keep  it  if  it  is  in  bad  condi- 
tion," said  Mr.  Gammage,  loftily. 

"Can't  you  tell  us  how  to  feed  it?"  said  Sir 
Charles. 

"I'm  not  a  vet,"  said  Mr.  Gammage;  "I  believe 
it's  dead." 

"It  isn't !"  exclaimed  Sir  Charles;  "it  wriggled." 
Two  minutes  later  he  reentered  the  drawing- 


THE   KINSMAN  235 

room  with  the  little  kangaroo  in  his  arms.  He 
was  at  once  surrounded. 

"Oh,  what  a  darling!"  cried  Pamela. 

"It  opened  its  eyes  and  looked  at  me,"  said 
Kitty. 

"Perhaps  it  would  like  a  little  milk/'  said  Mrs. 
Blois. 

"A  kangaroo  isn't  a  cat,"  growled  the  Colonel. 
"They  are  herbivorous." 

"They  eat  grass,"  said  Mrs.  Lutterworth;  "I 
ascertained  that  in  Melbourne." 

"How  clever  of  you  !"  said  Mrs.  Blois.  "Now  I 
should  never  have  made  inquiries  because  I  never 
expected  to  feel  anxious  about  a  kangaroo.  It 
has  shut  its  eyes  again,  poor  dear,  just  as  if  it 
felt  faint.  Pamela,  get  my  salts." 

"Not  while  it's  in  my  arms,"  protested  Sir 
Charles.  "You  don't  want  it  to  jump,  do  you?" 

"Let  me  hold  it,"  said  Pamela;  "I'm  longing 
to." 

"They're  stronger  than  you  think,"  said  Sir 
Charles,  rather  unwillingly  putting  it  in  her  arms. 

"Take  care,"  cried  Mr.  Gammage,  very  much 
excited,  "the  beggar's  awake  again." 

There  was  a  cry,  a  jump,  and  a  general  scatter 
as  the  kangaroo,  disturbed  by  the  transfer,  gave 


236  THE  KINSMAN 

a  struggling  leap  from  Pamela's  weaker  grasp, 
alighted  on  the  floor,  poised  for  a  terrified  mo- 
ment on  its  tail  and  hind  legs,  gave  a  bound 
towards  the  open  window,  and  disappeared  into 
the  moonlight.  The  men  made  after  it,  but  by 
the  time  Sir  Charles  vaulted  from  the  window-sill 
to  the  terrace  his  quarry  was  bounding  across 
the  lawn.  He  and  some  of  the  younger  men  had 
a  hunt  for  it  round  the  garden,  but  it  was  not  seen 
again  that  night. 

"How  heart-breaking  to  have  loved  a  kangaroo 
and  lost  it!"  said  Pamela.  "But  did  you  find 
out  where  it  came  from,  Mr.  Blois?" 

"I  believe  so,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  significantly 
touching  his  head  and  speaking  in  an  undertone. 
"I  must  have  ordered  it  last  week  and  forgotten 
all  about  it.  But  I'll  get  you  another,  Miss 
Pamela.  I'll  fill  the  place  with  kangaroos  if  you 
like  them." 

He  made  this  spirited  offer  while  people  were 
bidding  good-bye,  and  Pamela  managed  to  evade 
it  because  KityBradwardine  claimed  her  attention. 

"There  ought  to  be  a  touch  of  colour,  I  think," 
she  said;  "amethyst  — 

"Pale  green,"  said  Pamela. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Kitty,  her  eyes  wandering 


THE  KINSMAN  237 

to  her  sandy-haired  lover,  who  stood  in  the  hall 
with  his  host  near  a  table,  where  cigars  and  spirits 
were  set.  " Would  pale  green  suit  him?  You'll 
only  be  a  background  for  him,  you  know." 

Pamela's  laugh  caught  her  father's  ears  and 
brought  to  mind  her  delinquencies. 

" Pamela,"  he  said,  when  everyone  had  gone, 
"  don't  run  off.  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"Of  course  you  do,"  she  said,  linking  her  arm 
in  his.  "Let's  go  into  the  drawing-room.  I  just 
saw  Mr.  Blois  disappear  into  the  library  with  a 
box  of  cigars." 

"I  am  not  going  to  stand  any  nonsense,"  said 
the  Colonel,  allowing  himself  to  be  led  to  a  settee. 

"You  never  do,"  said  Pamela,  meekly. 

"Why  didn't  you  sit  where  you  were  told?" 

"I  forget.     But  I  love  Sir  Charles." 

"My  dear  Pamela,  what  language!"  said  Mrs. 
Blois. 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  say?"  asked  Colonel 
Blois  of  his  wife.  "Are  you  content  to  make  your 
plan  of  the  table  and  allow  Pamela  to  upset  it  at 
the  last  moment?" 

"I  noticed  that  there  was  some  change  of 
places,"  said  Mrs.  Blois;  "I  thought  it  must  be 
your  doing,  Anthony." 


238  THE  KINSMAN 

"My  doing!  Pamela!"  The  Colonel  paused 
for  words. 

"It  was  me,"  said  Pamela,  nodding  at  her  step- 
mother. "I  did  it  on  my  own." 

"On  what,  dear?  Of  course,  I  thought  your 
father  had  got  confused.  I  am  sure  I  should  with 
twenty  people  to  send  in." 

"Confused  —  nonsense!"  said  the  Colonel.  "I 
told  Mr.  Blois  to  take  Pamela,  and  she  deliberately 
defied  my  instructions.  Now  all  she  can  say  is 
that  she  loves  Sir  Charles,  —  a  statement  I  con- 
sider disgraceful;  and  all  you  have  to  say  is— 
perfect  nonsense." 

"If  you  weren't  so  cross,  Dad,  I'd  tell  you  some- 
thing," said  Pamela,  putting  her  cheek  close  to  his. 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  that  you  are  ashamed  of 
yourself,"  said  he. 

"What  have  I  done?" 

"Set  your  parents  at  defiance." 

"Only  one  of  them,"  said  Pamela. 

The  Colonel  tried  to  rise  from  the  sofa  on  which 
he  was  sitting,  but  Pamela  clung  to  his  arm  and 
whispered  in  his  ear. 

"She  tells  me  that  Burnham  is  engaged  to  Kitty 
Bradwardine,"  he  said  in  a  mollified  tone  to  his 
wife,  "and  she  pretends  that  she  brought  it  about 


THE  KINSMAN  239 

by  separating  them  at  dinner.  I  am  delighted  to 
hear  it,  but  it  is  no  excuse  for  your  behaviour, 
Pamela." 

"It  is  an  excuse  for  London  and  a  new  frock," 
she  said.  "I'm  going  to  be  bridesmaid." 

"I  wonder  what  that  poor  little  kangaroo  is 
doing,"  said  Mrs.  Blois,  after  she  had  expressed  all 
the  surprise  and  pleasure  expected  of  her.  "I 
suppose  he  won't  catch  cold.  If  it  was  an  ourang- 
outang,  now  — " 

"I  should  like  an  ourang-outang,"  said  Pamela. 
"I  think  I'll  ask  Mr.  Blois  to  get  me  one.  Aus- 
tralians seem  to  be  very  obliging.  He  says  he'll 
fill  the  place  with  kangaroos  to  please  me.  If  I 
asked  an  Englishman  for  an  ourang-outang,  he'd 
probably  refuse  to  have  it  in  the  house." 

"I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  one  English- 
man would,"  said  Colonel  Blois.  He  felt  vaguely 
annoyed  by  his  heir's  offer  to  fill  a  place  that  was 
not  his  own  yet,  and  when  he  went  into  the  li- 
brary to  smoke,  Mr.  Gammage,  who  wanted  to 
ask  questions  about  everyone  he  had  seen,  found 
him  rather  uncommunicative. 

The  mystery  of  the  kangaroo  was  partially  but 
not  wholly  explained  to  Mr.  Gammage  next  day. 
He  received  an  ill-spelt  letter  from  someone  who 


240  THE  KINSMAN 

signed  himself  John  Thompson,  and  said  he  had 
forwarded  the  wallaby  as  agreed  and  hoped  it 
would  arrive  safely.  There  was  no  demand  for 
payment.  Mr.  Gammage  hardly  knew  what  to 
do,  so  he  did  nothing.  He  thought  that  if  John 
Thompson  wanted  money,  he  could  write  and  ask 
for  it.  Meanwhile  the  creature  appeared  and  dis- 
appeared and  had  not  been  caught  yet.  One 
day  at  sundown  Pamela  found  it  feeding  on  the 
croquet  lawn.  The  keepers  caught  it  in  the 
coverts,  and  the  head-gardener  vowed  he  would 
shoot  it,  and  the  villagers  trespassed  in  search 
of  it.  The  squire  and  the  "  Encyclopaedia  Britan- 
nica"  could  not  convince  the  keepers  that  the 
game  was  in  no  danger;  and  the  local  poacher 
blessed  it  for  drawing  suspicion  from  himself. 

"I'm  going  to  London  to-morrow,"  Mr.  Gam- 
mage  said  to  Pamela  on  the  Thursday  after  the 
dinner  party. 

"What  fun!"  said  Pamela,  knocking  some  cro- 
quet balls  together.  Her  father  had  taken  his 
guest  round  the  golf  links  this  morning  and 
had  come  back  with  his  clubs  and  his  temper 
damaged;  so  after  lunch  Pamela  invited  the 
Australian  to  play  croquet.  The  whole  family 
was  finding  the  week  a  long  one,  but  the  master 


THE  KINSMAN  241 

of  the  house  would  not  admit  it.  He  grew  angry 
if  his  women-folk  showed  any  distaste  for  the 
young  man. 

"It  isn't  much  fun  by  yourself,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage.  "I  wish  you  were  coming,  too  — 
and  Mrs.  Blois,  of  course.  Couldn't  you  manage 
it,  Miss  Pamela  ?  We'd  do  a  theatre  every  night, 
and  I'd  stand  the  hotel  bill  with  pleasure." 

"I'm  afraid  it's  impossible,"  she  said,  wishing 
her  father  stood  behind  the  nearest  bush.  "I 
must  be  here  on  Saturday  for  the  Rectory  garden 
party." 

"They  haven't  sent  me  an  invite,  'ave  they?" 
said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"You  would  have  come  with  us  if  you  had  been 
here,"  said  Pamela.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Rec- 
tory had  made  no  overtures  to  the  young  man,  and 
though  Mr.  Gammage  desired  to  avoid  Mrs.  Brad- 
wardine,  he  was  quite  inclined  to  resent  her  neglect. 

"I'm  coming  back  in  good  time  for  your  garden 
party  on  the  28th,"  he  said,  muffing  his  hoop  as 
he  spoke.  "Can  I  bring  any  little  thing  from 
London  for  it?" 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Pamela,  measuring  the 
distance  between  his  ball  and  hers.  "What  sort 
of  little  thing?" 


242  THE  KINSMAN 

"  Cakes,  I  was  thinking  of  —  the  village  confec- 
tioner don't  seem  first-class,  judging  by  his  win- 
dow —  but,  to  be  sure,  there's  the  parcel  post. 
How  people  ever  could  live  in  the  country  before 
the  days  of  telegrams  and  parcel  post  - 

"  Anyone  would  think  you  were  a  cockney 
rather  than  an  Australian,"  said  Pamela,  hitting 
his  ball  sharply. 

"What  a  funny  idea!"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  and 
walked  away  to  his  ball.  But  before  long  she 
came  up  to  it  again  and  took  it  with  her  own 
till  she  touched  the  winning  post. 

"I'm  afraid  we're  rather  unevenly  matched," 
she  said,  thinking  he  must  find  the  part  of  passive 
spectator  a  dull  one. 

"Only  in  croquet,  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 
Pamela  was  quite  pleased  to  look  up  and  see  a  foot- 
man coming  across  the  lawn  towards  her.  He  said 
that  the  ladies  from  the  Rectory  were  in  the  draw- 
ing-room and  that  Mrs.  Blois  could  not  be  found 
in  the  house. 

"I  must  go  in,"  said  Pamela  to  Mr.  Gammage. 

"I'll  follow  you  in  half  a  mo,"  said  he. 

Directly  she  was  out  of  sight  he  sat  down  and 
lit  a  cigar.  He  was  in  no  hurry  to  confront  Mrs. 
Bradwardine  again.  On  Monday,  when  she  dined 


THE   KINSMAN  243 

here,  he  managed  to  avoid  her.  They  had,  in  fact, 
not  exchanged  a  single  word.  But,  of  course,  this 
would  be  impossible  except  when  a  good  many 
other  people  were  present,  and  at  any  moment 
awkward  subjects  might  crop  up.  To  begin  with, 
there  was  the  kangaroo.  Apparently  Roger  had 
written  to  say  that  he  would  bring  one  and  had 
bought  one  on  board,  and  either  that  one  or 
another  had  actually  arrived.  Mrs.  Bradwardine 
probably  knew  all  about  it,  and  knew  at  any  rate 
that  no  kangaroo  belonging  to  him  had  died  on 
board.  Of  course  the  sunstroke  could  be  made 
useful  on  many  occasions,  but  Mr.  Gammage  began 
to  fear  it  might  have  drawbacks  too.  The  degree 
to  which  his  memory  had  been  affected  by  it  be- 
came both  serious  and  absurd.  He  did  not  want 
Pamela  to  think  him  weak  in  his  mind,  or  for  that 
matter  the  Colonel  either.  New  difficulties  might 
arise  out  of  such  a  state  of  things. 

When  he  had  finished  his  cigar  it  was  nearly  tea- 
time,  and  he  wondered  whether  the  Bradwardines 
would  stay  for  it.  A  sharp  shower  of  rain  came  on, 
but  he  did  not  go  back  to  the  house  because  he 
would  have  been  seen  from  the  drawing-room  win- 
dow. So  he  shuffled  his  way  through  a  shrubbery 
to  the  kitchen  garden,  where  he  knew  of  a  shed 


244  THE  KINSMAN 

with  a  seat.  The  rain  before  he  reached  shelter 
came  down  with  fury,  and  he  half  shut  his  eyes 
as  he  ran  headlong  through  it.  He  could  hear 
no  sound  except  the  hubbub  of  the  storm,  and  he 
rushed  right  into  the  shed  and  stood  there  dripping 
before  he  saw  that  it  was  occupied.  Mrs.  Blois 
and  Pamela  sat  there  with  the  ladies  from  the 
Rectory.  They  had  come  here  to  look  at  a  bed 
of  irises  and  had  been  caught  by  the  rain. 

"You've  got  wet,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Mrs.  Blois, 
and  then  she  turned  to  Mrs.  Bradwardine. 

"You  know  Mr.  Blois?"  she  said. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bradwardine,  looking 
curiously  at  the  hunched  and  streaming  figure 
sheering  away  from  her.  "I've  been  expecting 
you  to  come  and  look  me  up,  Mr.  Blois." 

"I  shall  be  delighted,  I'm  sure  —  some  day 
when  I'm  at  liberty,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  edging 
towards  the  storm  again. 

"I  hear  the  kangaroo  is  not  caught  yet,"  said 
Kitty. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "I  was  just  having  a 
little  'unt  for  it.  I  think  I'll  go,  if  you'll  excuse  me." 

He  disappeared  as  suddenly  as  he  had  come. 
Mrs.  Blois  sighed.  Mrs.  Bradwardine  began  to 
talk  about  Kitty's  wedding. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  SLIGHT  cloud  that  threatened  to  become  a  big 
one  hung  over  the  Greymarsh  household,  or  rather 
it  hung  between  Pamela  and  her  father,  separating 
them  impalpably.  What  Colonel  Blois  called  the 
fancies  of  a  girl  were  endangering  his  cherished 
plan,  which  he  desired  with  blind  impatience  to 
see  consummated.  He  thought  of  the  man-child 
who  should  be  heir  of  his  body,  of  his  name,  and  of 
his  house  and  land.  He  thought  so  much  of  him 
that  he  did  not  think  enough  of  the  girl  who  stood 
between.  Her  reluctance  appeared  to  him  like 
the  little  obstacle  you  surmount  in  order  to  reach 
your  goal,  and  he  refused  to  see  that  the  sacrifice 
expected  of  her  was  greater  than  what  he  offered 
himself. 

"He  is  going  to  be  Blois  of  Greymarsh,"  he  said 
to  his  wife.  "  That's  enough.  My  grandson  is 
going  to  be  Blois  of  Greymarsh,  too.  Pamela 
ought  to  see  it  in  that  light.  If  I  can  stand  the 
fellow,  surely  she  can." 

245 


246  THE  KINSMAN 

"She  says  she  is  quite  willing  to  stand  him  to 
the  extent  you  do/'  said  Mrs.  Blois.  "She  told 
me  so  only  this  morning.  The  child  wishes  to 
meet  you  halfway." 

Poor  Mrs.  Blois  felt  bewildered  when  her  hus- 
band received  this  assurance  with  every  mark  of 
extreme  displeasure.  In  her  heart  she  sympa- 
thised with  Pamela,  and  in  her  fluffy  way  she 
showed  the  girl  that  she  did;  but  she  would  no 
more  have  dared  to  oppose  her  husband  openly 
than  to  hunt  tigers.  She  tho'ught  it  rather  un- 
ladylike to  allude  to  a  marriage  at  all  before  the 
gentleman  had  officially  proposed,  but  it  was  the 
Colonel  who  sinned  on  this  count.  She  often 
found  that  her  rigid  little  canons  of  refinement 
were  ruthlessly  swept  away  by  him.  He  had  his 
own  canons,  of  course,  and  they  clashed  with 
his  present  desires.  He  knew  well  enough  that  his 
friends  and  that  exasperating  inner  critic  called 
a  conscience  would  condemn  him.  On  the  other 
hand,  every  rood  of  Blois  land  would  call  him 
blessed. 

No  doubt  the  situation  had  its  disagreeable  side. 
The  whole  household  felt  that  it  was  rid  of  an 
incubus  when  the  young  man  went  to  London,  and 
Pamela  dreaded  the  day  of  her  garden  party 


THE  KINSMAN  247 

because  it  would  bring  the  Australian  back  to 
Greymarsh.  She  could  have  put  up  with  him  in 
any  guise  except  that  of  a  suitor  whose  pretensions 
her  father  favoured.  She  would  have  thought  him 
a  stupid,  rather  amiable,  very  vulgar  young  man, 
and  she  would  never  have  dwelt  on  defects  for 
which  want  of  brain  and  breeding  were  responsible. 
It  was  in  her  lover,  in  her  future  husband,  that 
these  lapses  grew  to  crimes.  Pamela,  who  had 
always  been  as  happy  as  a  skylark,  saw  trouble 
ahead,  —  trouble  that  she  must  face  alone.  Her 
energetic  little  mouth  took  a  firmer  set  as  she 
looked  forward  to  a  battle  royal  with  her  father, — 
a  battle  she  meant  to  win  but  hated  to  fight.  She 
feared  the  scars  it  might  leave.  As  for  the  prop- 
erty, she  thought  of  it  with  grieving,  for  she  loved 
her  home;  but  she  was  not  responsible  for  the 
law  that  gave  it  to  a  stranger  and  drove  her  away. 
Mr.  Gammage  returned  from  London  about  an 
hour  before  people  began  to  arrive,  and  as  he  could 
not  see  any  of  the  family  about,  he  went  straight 
upstairs  to  dress.  He  felt  a  little  uneasy  in  his 
mind,  because  his  tailor,  on  being  asked  about  the 
correct  garments  for  garden  parties,  had  said  some- 
thing of  frock  coats  and  silk  hats,  but  also  some- 
thing of  tweeds  and  flannels.  Mr.  Gammage  did 


248  THE   KINSMAN 

not  want  to  betray  his  ignorance.  He  had  said 
in  an  airy  way,  "Same  as  for  Hurlingham,  I  sup- 
pose," and  the  tailor  had  said,  "Just  so,  sir."  Mr. 
Gammage  had  often  met  the  crowds  pouring  out 
of  London  to  Ranelagh  and  Hurlingham,  so,  as 
he  said  to  himself,  he  ought  to  know  as  well  as 
anyone.  But  he  had  always  looked  at  the  ladies 
driving  by  and  not  at  the  men,  and  he  found  he 
only  had  a  confused  memory  of  well-cut  black 
coats  and  tall  hats.  What  went  with  them  he 
had  forgotten.  While  he  was  still  debating  what 
to  do  he  heard  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  George, 
the  under-footman,  arrived  with  hot  water  and 
the  offer  of  his  services.  Mr.  Gammage  refused 
them,  but  detained  the  man  to  ask  him  the  ques- 
tion on  his  mind. 

"I  say,  George,"  he  began,  "what  has  the  Colo- 
nel got  on  this  afternoon?" 

"Got  on,  sir?"  repeated  George,  who  was  a 
dull-witted  young  man. 

"What  will  he  wear?" 

"A  suit  of  light  tweeds,  I  believe,  sir.  That  is 
what  he  wore  at  the  Rectory  on  Saturday." 

"But  what  do  the  younger  gentlemen  wear?" 

"Flannels  or  tweeds,  sir." 

"Not  frock  coats  and  silk  hats?" 


THE  KINSMAN  249 

"Sometimes,  sir." 

"And  flannels?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Gammage  wished  it  was  easier  to  blast  in- 
formation out  of  people,  and  he  hoped  he  was  not 
making  a  mistake  when  he  put  on  a  white  flannel 
shirt  and  trousers,  brown  shoes,  a  frock  coat,  and  a 
silk  hat.  He  tried  the  effect  of  a  cap  instead,  but 
he  decided  that  he  did  not  like  it.  He  could  always 
fetch  one  if  he  wanted  to  play  tennis,  he  thought. 
From  his  window  he  could  see  that  people  were  be- 
ginning to  arrive  already.  Colonel  Blois  was  on 
the  lawn  with  Mrs.  Blois  and  Pamela.  A  little 
group  of  friends  stood  about  near  them.  Mr. 
Gammage  saw  the  conspicuous  figure  of  Sir 
Charles  Burnham  —  he  wore  tweeds  —  and  the 
shrivelled  figure  of  Mr.  Lutterworth  —  he  wore 
black.  Pamela's  gown  was  of  muslin,  —  thin,  pale 
blue  and  white  muslin, — with  a  modish  voluminous 
skirt  and  fluttering  frills.  She  looked  like  a 
beautiful  blue  butterfly. 

Mr.  Gammage  took  a  final  glance  at  himself  and 
went  downstairs.  Of  course  the  very  people  he 
wanted  to  avoid  were  in  the  hall.  It  seemed 
full  of  Bradwardines  to  poor  Mr.  Gammage  as  he 
tried  to  make  his  way  unnoticed  into  the  garden ; 


250  THE  KINSMAN 

and  Mrs.  Bradwardine's  extended  hand  interposed 
itself  between  him  and  escape. 

"How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Blois?"  she  said,  and  her 
bland  unconsciousness  of  anything  unusual  in 
his  costume  set  him  at  ease  and  taught  her 
eighteen-year-old  son  how  he  ought  to 
behave. 

She  did  not  mean  to  walk  into  the  garden  with 
this  impossible  person  at  her  side,  but  the  Rector 
made  some  movement  towards  the  door  that  she 
could  not  circumvent,  and  she  actually  appeared 
on  the  lawn  almost  hand-in-hand  with  Mr.  Gam- 
mage.  That  night  she  dutifully  assented  when  her 
husband  said  that  clothes  were  conventions,  and 
that  only  petty  minds  attached  importance  to 
them ;  but  she  added  that  the  Australian  had 
damned  himself  in  the  eyes  of  the  county,  and  it 
seemed  a  pity.  The  Rector  said  that  some  of 
the  greatest  heroes  in  history  might  have  made 
the  same  mistake,  —  Leonidas,  for  instance,  or 
Oliver  Cromwell.  Mrs.  Bradwardine  said  she 
could  believe  a  good  deal  of  Cromwell,  but  not  that 
he  dressed  like  a  fool  and  talked  like  a  bagman; 
and  this  was  all  the  thanks  our  Mr.  Gammage  got 
for  trying  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  her  as 
they  walked  from  the  house  to  the  lawn. 


THE   KINSMAN  251 

"So  Miss  Kitty  is  going  to  marry  the  baronet?" 
he  had  begun  at  once. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bradwardine,  also  wishing  to 
be  agreeable  and  accept  the  young  man's  over- 
tures in  the  way  they  were  meant. 

"Very  good  match,  I  suppose?"  continued 
Mr.  Gammage. 

"I  hope  Sir  Charles  Burnham  thinks  so,"  said 
Mrs.  Bradwardine. 

Mr.  Gammage  would  probably  have  put  his  foot 
into  it  still  further  if  at  that  moment  he  had  not 
caught  his  host's  eye  fixed  on  him  in  dismay.  He 
saw  him  go  up  to  Sir  Charles  Burnham  and  whis- 
per something,  and  he  saw  Sir  Charles  look  dubious 
and  reluctant,  as  if  he  had  been  offered  a  job  he  only 
half  liked.  People  were  arriving  every  moment 
now,  and  of  course  Colonel  Blois,  with  his  wife 
and  daughter,  were  busily  occupied.  Mr.  Gam- 
mage sought  for  someone  he  knew  who  was  at 
leisure  to  speak  to  him,  and  rather  to  his  surprise 
Sir  Charles  Burnham  responded  to  his  glance  and 
left  Kitty's  side.  He  not  only  did  this,  but  he 
suggested  that  they  should  go  indoors  and  have 
a  smoke. 

"Won't  it  seem  rather  unsociable  —  to  leave 
the  ladies  so  soon?"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  But 


252  THE  KINSMAN 

Sir  Charles  pooh-poohed  the  idea  and  led  him 
inside  the  house.  When  they  were  solemnly 
seated  opposite  each  other  in  the  library  Sir 
Charles  cleared  his  throat.  Then  he  lighted  his 
cigar,  then  he  cleared  his  throat  again.  Even 
Mr.  Gammage  perceived  that  he  had  something 
to  say  and  found  it  difficult  to  begin. 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  something  straight," 
said  Mr.  Gammage,  looking  fixedly  at  the  other 
man's  tweeds  and  Panama  hat. 

"I  want  to,"  said  Sir  Charles. 
.     "I've  no  idea  what  you're  going  to  cough  out," 
said  Mr.  Gammage.     "What  I  want  to  know  is, 
are  my  clothes  the  correct  thing?     I  should  not 
like  to  look  particular." 

"Just  my  feeling  —  about  clothes,"  said  Sir 
Charles.  "And  in  England  we  are  so  beastly 
hide-bound." 

"If  you  ask  me,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "I  call  it 
rather  free-and-easy  to  wear  a  suit  of  dittoes  at 
a  garden  party.  I  wouldn't  do  it  myself." 

Sir  Charles  went  on  smoking.  His  quiet, 
humorous  face  betrayed  nothing  but  a  friendly 
interest  in  what  the  young  man  opposite  was 
saying. 

"At  the  same  time,"  Mr.  Gammage  continued, 


THE  KINSMAN  253 

"I  don't  wish  to  appear  overdressed.  It's  bad 
form,  and  I  don't  see  anyone  else  in  this  com- 
bination. Perhaps  it's  a  little  too  much  for  the 


occasion." 


"  Perhaps  it  is,"  said  Sir  Charles,  cocking  his 
eye  at  it. 

"I  asked  the  tailor  and  I  asked  the  footman. 
They  both  said  frock  coats  and  flannels  were  worn 
at  garden  parties." 

"But  not  together,"  said  Sir  Charles.  "At 
least,  not  as  a  rule  —  in  this  neighbourhood." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "one  must  give 
in  to  local  customs,  of  course  —  and  I  suppose 
you  ought  to  know." 

He  seemed  rather  put  out  and  half  incredulous, 
but  to  Sir  Charles'  relief  he  finally  decided  to  take 
advice.  When  he  reappeared  in  the  garden  he 
wore  a  straw  hat  and  one  of  Roger's  quiet,  well- 
cut  tweed  coats,  and  he  looked  as  handsome  as 
the  young  man  in  Punch  who  was  a  Greek  god 
in  flannels  but  a  bank  clerk  in  broadcloth.  If 
Julia  could  have  seen  him,  she  would  have  lost  her 
heart  to  him  afresh,  but  his  fickle  mind  hardly 
ever  sent  a  thought  or  a  regret  back  to  Julia. 
Pamela  drew  him  like  a  lodestar. 

This    afternoon,    however,    he    found    Pamela 


254  THE  KINSMAN 

elusive.  Whenever  he  approached  her  she  civilly 
introduced  him  to  someone  else,  and  in  course  of 
time  he  reckoned  that  he  had  given  all  the  old 
ladies  present  a  spirited  picture  of  life  in  the  Aus- 
tralian bush.  Colonel  Blois,  too,  introduced  him 
to  some  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood, 
and  they  worried  him  about  breeds  of  sheep  and 
the  fiscal  question  from  the  Colonial  point  of  view, 
matters  in  which  he  took  no  interest  whatever. 
As  the  afternoon  went  on  he  felt  more  and  more 
out  of  it.  Amongst  a  hundred  people  there  were 
bound  to  be  some  whose  manners  were  not  equal 
to  an  encounter  with  his.  Sir  Charles  Burnham 
could  tell  Mr.  Gammage  his  clothes  were  wrong 
without  hurting  his  feelings;  but  Mr.  Skeffirig- 
ton-Blewitt  (everyone  knows  Blewitt's  Hygienic 
Pills)  shivered  and  stiffened  when  he  heard  the 
young  man's  common  accent.  So  did  Mrs. 
Skeffington-Blewitt,  whose  style  was  die-away  and 
anaemic.  She  said  that  the  Australian's  vowels 
gave  her  neuralgia,  and  she  fled  from  him  as  if 
she  feared  contagion.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
local  Duchess,  born  a  Fitzurse  and  a  fool,  rather 
took  to  Mr.  Gammage.  She  arrived  very  late  and 
only  stayed  half  an  hour.  When  she  got  up  to 
go,  the  Bradwardines,  with  Sir  Charles  Burnharn, 


THE  KINSMAN  255 

Mrs.  Blois,  and  Pamela,  formed  a  little  group 
on  the  terrace,  a  few  stragglers  still  strolled 
about  the  garden,  while  Colonel  Blois  was  in  the 
hall,  watching  his  guests  drive  away. 

"You  must  bring  your  Australian  friend  to  see 
me,"  the  Duchess  said  to  Mrs.  Blois.  "I've  been 
tellin'  him  about  my  little  club  in  Camberwell  for 
city  clerks,  and  he  is  comin'  to  help  us.  He  has 
been  talkin'  to  me  about  the  inner  life  of  the  city 
clerk  with  such  delightful  sympathy !  I  feel  as  if 
one  of  my  dear  Camberwell  friends  had  been  enter- 
tainin'  me.  He  has  quite  their  humour  and  their 
curious  accent." 

Mr.  Gammage  stood  awkwardly  at  the  edge  of 
the  group  the  Duchess  had  now  joined,  for  when 
she  rose  he  followed  her.  As  she  finished  speak- 
ing he  saw  Mrs.  Bradwardine's  eyes  turn  his 
way  with  a  disquieting  gleam  of  surprise  in  them. 

"Where  have  you  studied  the  ways  of  the  city 
clerk?"  she  said. 

"Over  there,"  he  said  glibly.  "I  employ  a  lot 
of  clerks." 

"I  wonder  if  you  could  place  one  or  two  of  my 
friends,"  said  the  Duchess. 

"I  dessay,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "I'll  look  into 
it." 


256  THE  KINSMAN 

"What  salary  do  you  pay  a  clerk  out  there?" 

"My  manager  sees  to  all  that/'  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage. 

"I  thought  you  had  wound  up  your  affairs  over 
there,"  said  Mrs.  Bradwardine. 

"Partially-  But  a  big  concern  like  mine  isn't 
made  in  a  day,  and  isn't  done  with  in  a  day.  I 
may  have  to  go  over  there  again." 

"How  bold  !"  said  Mrs.  Bradwardine. 

"Bold!" 

There  was  a  note  in  the  lady's  voice  and  a  look 
in  the  lady's  eye  that  Mr.  Gammage  did  not  like. 

"Why  bold?  "he  asked. 

"You  know  best,"  said  she. 

Mr.  Gammage  sat  down  on  the  low  stone  balus- 
trade of  the  terrace,  because  he  was  suddenly  seized 
with  panic.  He  had  played  the  game  so  well,  he 
had  never  let  his  fears  control  him,  and  now  with- 
out warning,  at  a  word  and  a  glance,  fear  had  him 
by  the  throat.  His  face  changed,  his  lips  were 
livid,  as  Mrs.  Bradwardine,  detaching  herself  from 
the  others,  came  close  up  to  him. 

"What  have  you  done  with  my  charming 
friend  of  the  Electric?"  she  said.  "Is  it  his 
game  you  are  playing,  and  how  long  is  it  to 
last?" 


THE  KINSMAN  257 

"What  do  you  mean?"  stammered  Mr.  Gam- 
mage. 

"  You're  not  Roger  Blois,"  she  said  disdain- 
fully, and  then  she  walked  away,  leaving  Mr.  Gam- 
mage  to  gaze  after  her  vacantly.  His  thoughts 
were  tumultuous  and  contradictory ;  and  he  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  whether  he  had  been  wise 
to  admit  nothing  or  foolish  to  sit  there  like  a  zany 
and  deny  nothing.  He  wanted  to  run  after  her 
and  ask  her  what  she  knew,  and  what  she  only 
guessed,  and  whether  she  meant  to  keep  silence; 
but  he  held  himself  in  check.  Suspense  is  un- 
pleasant, but  certain  and  disgraceful  exposure  is 
worse. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  GREAT  marsh  intersected  by  creeks  lay  be- 
tween the  village  and  the  sea  at  Greymarsh.  It 
was  fringed  in  the  distance  by  sand-dunes,  rising 
like  a  ridge  of  pigmy  mountains  against  the  sky. 
In  summer  the  sea  pink,  the  sea  lavender,  and 
many  other  marsh  flowers  spread  a  delicate  colour 
over  it,  each  crop  lasting  till  the  high  tides  washed 
and  bleached  them.  Two  of  the  larger  creeks 
were  used  as  harbours  by  the  fishermen,  and  they 
were  crowded  with  small  craft;  while  everywhere 
about  the  marsh  there  were  boats  lying  high  and 
dry.  Sometimes,  however,  the  sea  came  creeping 
close  to  the  highroad  itself,  floating  every  boat, 
flooding  the  creeks  and  pastures,  and  making  of 
the  quiet  English  landscape  a  lake  that  came  and 
vanished  like  a  mirage.  About  fifty  years  ago 
one  of  these  high  tides  had  come  so  far  and  done 
so  much  damage  that  Pamela's  grandfather  at 
great  expense  had  built  a  sea-wall  extending  for 
miles  and  protecting  the  adjacent  farm  lands. 

268 


THE  KINSMAN  259 

The  flat,  grass-grown  top  of  this  dam,  locally 
known  as  the  "bank,"  was  a  favourite  walk  with 
the  villagers,  but  only  on  Sunday  afternoons,  when 
they  had  leisure  to  promenade  in  twos  and  threes 
a  mile  or  so  from  home.  On  a  week  day  Pamela 
knew  that  she  would  have  the  "bank"  to  herself. 
A  little  later  in  the  year,  if  she  walked  as  far  as  the 
village  of  Suffery,  she  might  come  across  a  man 
squatting  in  the  long  grass  on  the  look-out  for 
wild  ducks,  or  pass  a  child  gathering  mushrooms. 
But  during  the  early  summer  the  peace  and  lone- 
liness here  were  hardly  ever  broken,  and  the  girl 
often  came  to  watch  the  sunsets  and  the  birds  and 
the  incoming  tide. 

On  the  afternoon  after  the  garden  party  at 
Greymarsh  she  had  walked  a  long  way  before  she 
felt  inclined  to  turn  home.  She  knew  that  the 
water,  just  beginning  to  creep  like  a  sluggish  snake 
into  the  creeks,  would  gain  in  volume  and  swift- 
ness every  moment,  and  would,  before  sunset, 
wash  over  every  petal  of  the  sea-thrift  now  cov- 
ering the  great  expanse  of  marsh  with  a  rose- 
coloured  sheen.  To-morrow  the  blush  of  it  would 
be  a  little  fainter,  and  a  few  days  hence  it  would 
have  died  away.  This  evening  the  slanting  rays 
of  the  sun  touched  it  brilliantly.  As  long  as 


260  THE  KINSMAN 

Pamela  walked  away  from  her  home  she  did  not 
see  a  tree  anywhere :  only  the  sand-dunes  on  the 
horizon,  the  great  marsh  all  aglow,  the  stranded 
fishing  boats,  and  the  flight  of  tern  and  wild  duck 
across  the  shining  sky.  But  at  six  o'clock  she 
unwillingly  called  Ruffles  from  the  vain  pursuit 
of  gulls  and  turned  back.  She  was  nearly  an 
hour's  walk  from  home,  and  at  Greymarsh  they 
were  old-fashioned  in  their  way  and  dined  at 
half-past  seven.  By  this  time  the  tide  was  racing 
along  the  creek  that  stretched  like  a  river  from 
Greymarsh  to  Suffery  Harbour.  As  she  strolled 
home  she  watched  the  quiet  inrush  of  water  that 
soon  spread  from  the  "bank"  to  the  horizon  like 
a  lake,  on  whose  smooth  surface  the  lights  of  sun- 
set turned  to  burning  gold.  Boats  floated  lazily 
at  anchor  now,  and  presently  one  or  two  red  sails 
moved  out  from  Greymarsh  Harbour.  Facing 
Pamela  lay  the  straggling  village,  where  she  knew 
every  man,  woman,  and  child,  while  behind  it  rose 
the  higher  land  and  the  woods  that  hid  her  home. 
It  was  a  bitter  thought  to  the  girl  that  she  must 
some  day  be  driven  forth  from  this  home,  but  it 
was  not  one  that  had  occurred  with  any  persistence 
until  lately.  The  very  young  expect  their  elders 
to  live  for  ever,  and  when  Pamela  had  looked  for- 


THE  KINSMAN  261 

ward  at  all,  she  saw  her  father  at  Greymarsh  and 
herself  there,  too.  She  was  not  a  girl  whose  dreams 
were  of  marriage,  and  she  had  never  yet  been  in 
love.  Few  young  men  came  to  the  quiet  country 
household,  and  not  one  had  stirred  her  fancy. 
But  now  a  man  had  come  and  brought  trouble 
with  him.  Since  yesterday  he  had  made  his 
intentions  plain,  and  Pamela  foresaw  that  she 
was  not  to  be  spared  the  disagreeable  business 
of  refusing  him. 

When  she  was  still  more  than  half  a  mile  from 
the  end  of  the  bank,  she  was  not  much  surprised 
to  see  a  solitary  figure  approaching  her  and  gradu- 
ally take  the  shape  of  the  Australian.  She  had 
escaped  after  tea  while  he  was  smoking  with  her 
father,  but  he  knew  that  she  often  walked  here, 
and  he  had  evidently  come  to  meet  her.  In  the 
distan'ce  his  tall  and  well-shaped  figure  was  attrac- 
tive, and  Pamela  could  not  help  wishing,  as  he 
was  fated  to  cross  her  path,  that  someone  had 
found  him  in  his  cradle  and  brought  him  up  a 
gentleman.  She  had  not  lived  long  enough  in  the 
world  to  know  that  in  these  democratic  days 
people  are  half  afraid  to  admit  a  distinction  she 
took  for  granted  ;  but  if  she  had  known,  she  would 
only  have  laughed  at  such  disingenuous  nonsense. 


262  THE   KINSMAN 

As  Mr.  Gammage  approached  her  he  twirled  his 
stick  by  way  of  a  greeting  as  he  asked  her  why  she 
hadn't  mentioned  that  she  wanted  a  walk. 

"Two  are  company,"  he  said,  turning  as  he 
came  up  to  her. 

"I  brought  Ruffles,"  said  Pamela. 

'"E  can't  talk,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"I  didn't  want  to  talk." 

"  Well  —  I  call  it  a  lonely  walk  for  a  young  lady. 
Suppose  you  met  a  rough  character?" 

Pamela  watched  a  fishing  boat  with  outspread 
sails  glide  through  the  cold,  grey  water  towards  a 
golden  pathway  made  by  the  setting  sun. 

All  the  romance  of  life  shone  on  the  water,  she 
thought,  and  all  the  sordid  prose  of  it  walked  by 
her  side. 

"I've  been  having  quite  a  business  conversation 
with  your  father,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  abruptly. 

"Oh!"  said  Pamela,  watching  the  golden  sails 
turn  chill  and  grey  again. 

"He's  been  telling  me  a  lot  about  his  property, 
and  how  it  is  he  can't  leave  most  of  it  to  you  — 
in  fact,  none  of  it  except  a  bit  of  money  he's  saved. 
I  must  say  it  seems  hard  lines." 

"English  law,"  said  Pamela. 

"I  dessay.    Still,  your  father  can't  exactly  enjoy 


THE   KINSMAN  263 

the  idear  of  me  steppin'  in  to  everything.  I  reelly 
wonder  he's  as  genial  as  he  is." 

"We  should  be  very  silly  and  unjust  if  we 
blamed  you.  Of  course,  we  wish  there  had  been 
a  son  instead  of  me." 

"I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"Naturally,"  said  Pamela. 

"I  don't  mean  what  you  mean,  either.  I  wasn't 
thinking  of  the  property  then.  I  was  thinking  of 
you." 

"You  mustn't  trouble  about  me,"  said  Pamela. 
"I  shall  have  my  mother's  money,  besides  — " 

"I'm  not  troubling  .  .  .  not  that  way,"  Mr. 
Gammage  tried  to  explain.  "You  don't  quite 
take  my  meaning.  I'm  glad  you're  not  a  boy, 
because  the  property  .  .  .  the  property  .  .  .  well, 
the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  the  property  can  be 
yours  if  you'll  say  the  word." 

"I'm  afraid  my  father  has  not  explained  well," 
said  Pamela.  "The  land  will  no  more  be  yours  to 
give  than  it  is  his  to  give." 

"With  all  my  worldly  goods  I  thee  endow. 
That's  the  way  out  of  it,  Miss  Pamela,  I  do  assure 
you.  I  can  see  that  your  father's  agreeable,  and 
I'm  more  than  agreeable.  I'm  keen.  It  just 
depends  on  you." 


264  THE   KINSMAN 

"I'm  much  obliged  to  you,"  began  Pamela. 

"No  occasion,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "I  make 
the  offer  to  please  myself." 

"I  cannot  accept  it,"  said  Pamela. 

"Why  ?  What's  wrong  with  me  ?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Gammage.  "I've  generally  had  pretty  good  luck 
with  the  fair  sex." 

Pamela  walked  on  silently  and  wished  herself  at 
home. 

"I  know  two  who'd  marry  me  to-morrow,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Gammage,  in  an  offended  tone. 

"Then  go  and  marry  them/''  said  Pamela,  losing 
her  thin-spun  patience. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  blandly.  "I 
want  you.  A  man  in  my  position  has  to  think  of 
the  head  of  his  table  and  all  that  kind  of  thing. 
Besides,  what  I  observed  was  that  they'd  marry 
me :  a  very  different  pair  of  shoes  from  my  marry- 
ing them.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  they  are  not 
quite  my  form.  That's  what  you  are,  Miss 
Pamela,  down  to  the  ground." 

"Well,"  said  Pamela,  "I've  given  you  the 
only  answer  I  can.  You  must  find  someone 
else  to  sit  at  the  head  of  your  table.  I  never 
shall." 

"By  the  way  you  treat  me,"  argued  Mr.  Gam- 


THE   KINSMAN  265 

mage,  "  anyone  would  think  I  had  everything  to 
gain  and  you  nothing." 

Pamela's  firm  mouth  set  in  determined  lines  and 
her  grey  eyes  looked  disdainfully  in  front  of  her. 

"If  ever  I  marry,  it  won't  be  for  gain,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Gammage  looked  across  the  water  and  won- 
dered what  he  could  say  next.  He  admired 
Pamela  warmly,  but  he  had  never  felt  what  he 
called  "at  home"  with  her,  and  he  had  never  gone 
a-wooing  with  so  little  success. 

"Think  it  over," he  said,  after  a  pause.  "There's 
no  'urry.  I  expect  you'll  come  round.  It's  a 
great  thing  for  me  having  the  Colonel  on  my  side." 

Pamela  was  thankful  when  they  reached  the 
village,  where  the  sudden  onslaught  made  by  her 
puppy  on  a  large,  fierce  cat  changed  the  subject. 
The  cat  got  the  best  of  it,  and  Pamela,  with  the 
help  of  a  friendly  fisherman,  rescued  Ruffles  in  a 
scratched  and  dejected  condition.  She  talked  to 
the  puppy  about  his  sins  and  to  Mr.  Gammage 
about  the  puppy  from  the  village  to  her  own  front 
door,  and  then  she  marched  straight  into  the 
library,  where  she  was  rather  sorry  to  find  Mrs. 
Blois  sitting  with  her  father.  She  had  strung  her- 
self up  to  confront  the  Colonel,  and,  though  her 
stepmother  was  an  ally,  her  presence  acted  as 


266  THE   KINSMAN 

the  presence  of  a  woman  acts  in  a  quarrel  between 
two  men.  Even  the  man  with  whom  she  agrees 
would  rather  have  her  away. 

The  evening  post  had  just  come,  and  Mrs.  Blois 
had  received  a  letter  that  seemed  to  occupy  her. 
She  did  not  observe  the  look  of  tension  on  Pamela's 
face,  but  addressed  her  at  once  in  a  tone  of  ram- 
bling information. 

"A  letter  from  your  Aunt  Irene,  my  dear.  She 
invites  us  all  there  for  a  week.  Isn't  it  lucky  that 
Marguerite  disappointed  you  yesterday?  Now 
that  gown  will  be  quite  fresh  next  Tuesday." 

"Is  Aunt  Irene  giving  a  garden  party  then?" 
asked  Pamela. 

"Not  Aunt  Irene,  dear.  The  Skeffington- 
Blewitts.  Don't  you  remember  about  it  being 
their  silver  wedding  next  week,  and  the  Brad- 
wardines  are  going  to  buy  wedding-clothes  at  the 
same  time,  and  there  is  an  Agricultural  Show  on, 
too,  so  Sir  Charles  will  travel  with  them.  I  should 
have  thought  the  Skeffington-Blewitts  would  have 
entertained  here  and  not  in  London,  but  I  sup- 
pose they  have  a  great  many  friends  there.  Mrs. 
Skeffington-Blewitt  asked  me  to  bring  you  up  next 
week,  and  when  I  mentioned  that  we  had  Mr.  Blois 
staying  with  us,  she  asked  him  too.  That  was 


THE   KINSMAN  267 

when  she  first  came.  She  did  not  mention  it  again 
when  she  said  good-bye." 

"She  had  seen  Mr.  Blois  by  that  time,"  said 
Pamela.  Her  father  looked  at  her  sharply. 

"I  should  like  to  accept  Aunt  Irene's  invita- 
tion," said  Pamela. 

"We  don't  quite  know  what  to  do,"  said  Mrs. 
Blois.  "Your  father  seems  to  think  you  are 
wanted  at  home  just  now.  Of  course,  you  are 
more  of  a  companion  for  a  young  man  than  we 
old  folk.  If  your  aunt  would  invite  him,  too." 

"How  long  is  Mr.  Blois  going  to  stay  here?" 
asked  Pamela. 

"As  long  as  he  pleases,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"I  should  like  to  stay  with  Aunt  Irene  until  he 
has  gone,"  said  Pamela. 

"What?"  thundered  her  father.  The  girl 
looked  at  him  placidly. 

"I  am  not  going  to  marry  him,"  she  said.  "I 
have  just  told  him  so." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MRS.  BLOIS  looked  up  from  her  letters  in  a  panic. 
She  knew  the  signs  of  storm  in  her  husband's  face, 
and  she  bent  to  them  as  ripe  corn  bends  to  a  high 
wind.  If  she  had  been  his  daughter,  she  would 
have  married  a  plough-boy  at  his  bidding.  But 
Pamela  was  made  of  different  stuff.  She  hardly 
feared  her  father's  anger,  because  her  own  pos- 
sessed her. 

"He  tells  me  that  you  support  him,"  she  said 
indignantly. 

"He  tells  the  truth,"  said  the  Colonel.  "I 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  the  marriage." 

Pamela  had  been  standing  opposite  her  father 
near  a  writing-table.  She  now  drew  a  chair  for- 
ward and  sat  down.  Her  pretty  face  was  white 
and  resolute ;  her  grey  eyes  were  fearless. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  against  it,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blois,  distress- 
fully, "you  must  consider  your  father's  wishes!" 

"I  have   considered  them   carefully." 

"You  will  obey  them?"  said  the  Colonel. 

268 


THE  KINSMAN  269 

" Certainly  not." 

"I  tell  you  plainly,  Pamela,  that  I  have  thought 
the  whole  thing  over,  and  I  am  determined." 

"So  am  I." 

"  Nonsense  !  A  girl  of  your  age  does  as  her  elders 
tell  her  if  she  has  any  sense  of  duty." 

"Most  girls  are  so  silly,"  said  Pamela. 

"What  reason  have  you  for  refusing  this  — 
this  gentleman?" 

"Just  the  reason  that  makes  you  hesitate.  He 
is  not  a  gentleman." 

"In  these  days,"  said  the  Colonel,  "all  such  dis- 
tinctions fall  to  the  ground." 

"You  have  not  brought  me  up  to  think  so.  I 
can't  change  all  my  tastes,  all  my  standards,  in 
a  day." 

"Your  father  hopes  he  will  improve,"  said  Mrs. 
Blois.  "I  think  he  has  improved  a  little  already. 
Of  course,  it  is  a  great  opportunity  for  you  to  sac- 
rifice yourself,  Pamela,  and  self-sacrifice  is  such 
a  sweet,  womanly — " 

She  stopped,  .  intimidated  by  her  husband's 
frowning  glances  and  wondering  what  she  had 
said  to  annoy  him. 

"No  one  expects  a  modern  girl  to  think  of  any- 
one but  herself,"  he  said  angrily. 


270  THE  KINSMAN 

"Of  whom  are  you  thinking  when  you  desire 
me  to  marry  a  man  I  detest?"  asked  Pamela. 

"You're  impertinent,"  argued  the  Colonel. 

"Don't  you  see,  Pamela,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Blois, 
"it  is  the  property  your  father  has  in  mind.  He 
wants  you  to  enjoy  it,  and  your  heirs  after  you  — 
not  strangers.  A  girl  really  gets  used  to  her 
husband  in  time.  I've  often  noticed  it.  After 
all,  if  you  were  a  princess,  you'd  have  to  marry 
for  dynastic  reasons.  It's  the  same  thing." 

"If  Pamela  was  a  princess,  she  would  throw  away 
an  empire  because  she  didn't  like  the  shape  of  the 
Emperor's  nose,"  said  the  Colonel.  "I've  no 
patience  with  such  folly,  and  I'm  not  going  to  give 
in  to  it.  I  shall  refuse  your  aunt's  invitation  — 
for  the  present.  You  will  stay  here  and  be  civil 
to  Mr.  Blois,  and  next  time  he  proposes  you  will 
accept  him." 

Pamela  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  blazing,  her 
anger  flaming  high. 

"If  he  dares  to  propose  again — "  she  began. 

Her  father  stopped  short  and  faced  the  girl. 
They  were  very  close  to  each  other.  Her  hands 
were  clenched,  her  brows  were  frowning. 

"Do  you  set  me  at  defiance?"  said  the  Colonel. 

Pamela  did  not  speak  or  smile  or  shrug  her 


THE  KINSMAN  271 

shoulders ;  yet  by  some  slight  relaxation  of  her  lips, 
and  the  derisive  light  in  her  eyes,  she  vexed  him 
beyond  endurance.  Then,  in  one  miserable  mo- 
ment, a  deed  as  inexcusable  as  a  stab  made  his- 
tory in  that  decorous  room.  The  Colonel,  goaded 
to  forgetfulness,  lifted  his  hand  and  boxed  the 
girl's  ears.  Mrs.  Blois  uttered  a  groan.  Pamela 
turned  red  and  white  in  turn  and  looked  at  first 
as  if  she  would  like  to  follow  her  father's  example. 
She  stood  there,  rigid  and  implacable,  watching 
his  instant  repentance. 

"Now  I'll  never  give  in,"  she  said,  "never." 

Then  she  walked  out  of  the  room,  too  angry  to 
realise  yet  how  completely  her  father's  lapse  gave 
her  the  best  of  it.  There  was  a  painful  silence  be- 
tween husband  and  wife  when  the  girl  had  gone. 
Colonel  Blois  paced  the  room  as  a  polar  bear  paces 
his  cage,  while  Mrs.  Blois  dabbed  at  her  eyes  with 
her  handkerchief. 

"If  only  the  young  man  had  been  more  pre- 
possessing," she  began. 

"My  dear  Amy,"  said  the  Colonel,  "you  have 
had  the  bringing  up  of  Pamela  since  she  was  thir- 
teen, and  I  really  can't  congratulate  you  on  your 
success.  Of  course  she  is  my  child  and  not 
yours  — " 


272  THE  KINSMAN 

"That's  it,"  said  Mrs.  Blois,  tearfully. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  the  Colonel,  stop- 
ping his  promenade  and  throwing  himself  into 
his  usual  chair. 

"You're  so  much  alike,"  murmured  his  wife. 

"Alike!     Where?     How?     I  don't  see  it." 

"Even  Dawes  remarked  on  it  only  the  other 
day,  when  she  cuffed  that  boy  for  ill-treating  a 
cat.  'Miss  Blois  flared  up  just  like  the  squire,'  he 
said." 

The  Colonel  gave  a  little  grunt. 

"Well,  now  I've  cuffed  her,"  he  said  uneasily, 
"I'm  sorry  I  did  it,  Amy.  You  take  things  to 
heart  so.  I  don't  suppose  Pamela  will  think 
twice  about  it,  eh?" 

"I've  no  idea,"  said  Mrs.  Blois ;  "sometimes  I'm 
afraid  I  don't  understand  either  you  or  Pamela  as 
well  as  I  could  wish." 

"Oh,  I  know  you  take  Pamela's  part  against 
me  in  this  affair,"  said  the  Colonel,  getting  angry 
again.  "Women  never  can  look  at  anything  from 
a  businesslike  point  of  view." 

"But,  Anthony,"  said  Mrs.  Blois,  "are  you 
attracted  by  the  young  man  yourself?  You  take 
him  up  rather  shortly  sometimes,  and  you  have 
once  or  twice  alluded  to  him  as  the  fellow.  Now, 


THE  KINSMAN  273 

you  would  never  call  any  of  our  friends  —  Charles 
Burnham,  for  instance  —  a  fellow. " 

11  Marriage  is  not  always  a  question  of  senti- 
ment," said  the  Colonel.  "Sometimes  it  is  a  mat- 
ter of  expediency.  I  want  Pamela's  son  to  be 
squire  of  Greymarsh,  if  I  must  put  it  plainly." 

"I  thought  perhaps  that  was  your  idea,"  said 
Mrs.  Blois.  She  looked  helplessly  across  the  room 
and  gave  a  little  shudder  of  aversion.  Then  her 
nervous  hands  twisted  her  handkerchief  into  knots 
and  her  breath  came  swiftly,  as  for  the  first  time 
since  her  marriage  she  openly  opposed  her  husband. 

"I  think  it's  too  much  to  ask  of  Pamela,"  she 
said.  "We  don't  want  the  child  to  be  miserable." 

The  Colonel  looked  miserable.  His  anger  had 
evaporated,  and  a  fit  of  gloom  succeeded.  He 
took  up  Mrs.  Loraine's  letter  and  read  it  again. 

"Perhaps  for  Irene's  sake  we  had  better  let  her 
go  to  Wimbledon  next  week,"  he  said.  "There  is 
no  great  hurry,  and  she  may  come  back  in  a  more 
sensible  frame  of  mind." 

Mrs.  Blois  felt  so  grateful  for  this  concession  that 
she  went  straight  upstairs  to  Pamela's  room  to 
tell  her  of  it.  She  found  the  whole  room  littered 
with  clothes.  Martha  knelt  before  a  huge,  open 
trunk,  and  tried  to  pack  it  as  quickly  as  her  young 


274  THE   KINSMAN 

mistress  desired;  while  Pamela  was  at  the  same 
time  getting  ready  for  dinner,  and  apparently 
issuing  instructions  for  a  journey. 

"My  dear  child!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blois,  in 
amazement.  "What  can  you  be  doing?" 

Pamela  removed  a  pile  of  blouses  from  a  chair, 
so  that  her  stepmother  could  sit  down.  Then  she 
dismissed  her  maid. 

"I'm  going  to  Wimbledon  to-morrow,"  she  said, 
when  Martha  had  left  the  room. 

"Your  father  is  willing  that  you  should  accept 
your  Aunt  Irene's  invitation,"  said  Mrs.  Blois. 
"I  came  to  tell  you  so.  But  you  are  asked  for 
next  Monday." 

"I  am  going  to-morrow,"  said  Pamela. 

"My  dear,  I  don't  know  that  your  father — " 

"I  have  no  father,"  said  the  girl. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  floor,  with  blouses  heaped 
about  her,  and  she  began  to  unfold  some  of  them 
with  an  indifferent  air  that  distressed  and  deceived 
Mrs.  Blois. 

"There  is  the  ten-minutes'  bell,"  she  said,  start- 
ing at  the  sound  of  it.  "We  must  get  ready,  or 
your  father  will  not  be  pleased.  I  hope  you  are 
going  to  behave  well,  Pamela.  I  don't  want  to 
preach,  but  you  really  seem  to  forget  the  fifth 


THE   KINSMAN  275 

commandment  sometimes.  I  don't  call  it  quite 
respectful  to  say  you  have  no  father,  when  he  is 
in  his  dressing  room,  and  you  must  admit  that 
men  know  better  than  women  about  land  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing." 

"I'm  sorry  you're  worried,"  said  Pamela,  perch- 
ing on  the  arm  of  her  stepmother's  chair  and 
stroking  her  hair.  "I'm  sorry  you  married  into 
our  family.  We're  beasts,  I  know." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  what  dreadful  words  you  use 
and  what  nonsense  you  talk !"  said  poor  Mrs.  Blois. 
"You  know  very  well  that  I'm  devoted  to  both  of 
you,  but  I  must  say  that  in  his  own  house  I  think 
your  father's  word  should  be  law." 

"That's  why  I'm  going  out  of  it,"  said  Pamela. 

"But  not  to-morrow." 

Pamela  made  no  promises,  but  she  arrived  down- 
stairs in  time  for  dinner.  She  had  decided  that  it 
was  more  grown  up  and  dignified  to  appear  than 
to  sulk  upstairs.  Besides,  she  wanted  to  do 
battle  with  her  father.  Her  weapons  were,  of 
course,  various  and  intangible.  To  begin  with, 
she  had  put  on  a  vivid  red  gown  that  added  years 
and  subtle  enchantment  to  her  girlish  figure. 
She  had  twisted  her  mother's  pearls  round  her 
neck  and  hastily  piled  up  her  fair  hair  in  a  fashion 


276  THE  KINSMAN 

that  gave  her  height  and  consequence.  When 
she  entered  the  room,  her  serene  grey  eyes  looked 
beyond  Colonel  Blois  as  if  he  had  been  a  spirit 
she  could  not  see,  and  he  glanced  at  her  with 
uneasy  realisation  of  her  beauty  and  her  woman- 
hood. During  dinner  she  joined  adroitly  in  gen- 
eral talk  and  managed  inconspicuously  to  ignore 
her  father.  Mrs.  Blois,  with  her  flow  of  detached 
remarks,  played  into  the  girl's  hands.  Mr.  Gam- 
mage  stared  at  the  lady  who  would  none  of  him, 
and  when  he  was  left  alone  with  his  host  irritated 
him  by  uttering  a  succession  of  portentious  sighs. 

"Aren't  you  well?"  said  Colonel  Blois,  at  last. 

"Down  on  my  luck,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

The  Colonel  refilled  his  glass  and  pushed  the 
decanter  towards  his  guest.  The  young  man 
jarred  on  him  acutely  to-night. 

Meanwhile,  Pamela  had  put  on  a  cloak,  cleverly 
tucked  up  her  long  skirts,  and  gone  on  her  bicycle 
to  the  Rectory,  which  was  only  about  half  a  mile 
from  the  Manor  House.  She  found  the  Brad- 
wardines  in  the  garden  with  Sir  Charles  Burnham, 
who  had  dined  there ;  and  when  she  had  been  there 
for  a  little  while  she  managed  to  detach  Mrs.  Brad- 
wardine  from  the  others  and  walk  to  the  green- 
house with  her. 


THE  KINSMAN  277 

"I'm  going  to  Wimbledon  to-morrow,"  she  said. 
I 

" Kitty  and  I  go  to  London  on  Monday,"  said 
Mrs.  Bradwardine.  "  Shall  we  meet  then  at  the 
Skeffington-Blewitts'  on  Tuesday?" 

They  had  reached  the  greenhouse  now,  and  Mrs. 
Bradwardine  pointed  out  the  plan  they  had 
ostensibly  come  to  see.  Then  she  looked  at 
Pamela,  whom  she  had  known  since  her  birth; 
but  she  waited  for  the  girl  to  speak  first.  Pamela 
gathered  a  leaf  of  scented  verbena  and  crushed  it 
between  her  fingers. 

"Do  you  believe  in  self-sacrifice?"  she  said, 
her  young  face  sombre  and  reflective. 

"Not  always,"  said  Mrs.  Bradwardine. 

"Dad  has  set  his  heart  on  it  —  and  I  can't  do 
it  —  and  he  and  I  are  bad  friends.  I  wish  I  knew 
for  certain  which  of  us  is  right." 

Mrs.  Bradwardine  suddenly  felt  the  deep  re- 
sponsibility cast  on  her  by  her  suspicions.  They 
were  too  vague  to  shape  in  words,  too  haunting 
to  reject,  too  outrageous  to  act  on  hurriedly. 

"You  must  wait,"  she  said. 

"But  they  won't  —  he  proposed  to-night — " 

Mrs.  Bradwardine  uttered  a  horrified  ejacula- 
tion. 

"I  refused  him  —  and  now  Dad  and  I  are  bad 


278  THE   KINSMAN 

friends  -  -  real  bad  friends.  He  insists,  you 
know." 

11  Can't  you  get  away?" 

"I'm  going  —  to-morrow  morning.  I've  wired 
to  Aunt  Irene,  and  I've  told  mother,  but  not  Dad. 
I  don't  believe  he'd  let  me  go." 

Mrs.  Bradwardine  paused  judiciously  before  she 
spoke  again. 

"You  were  right  to  refuse  him,"  she  said  in 
time.  "There  is  something  wrong  —  something 
I  don't  understand  yet." 

Pamela  looked  up,  alert  and  interested. 

"I  think  you  are  right  to  go,"  Mrs.  Bradwardine 
went  on. 

"But  what  do  you  mean?  What  can  be 
wrong  ? " 

"The  young  man." 

"Of  course  he  is  —  all  wrong  —  but  we  have 
known  that  from  the  beginning." 

"I  didn't  know  it  on  the  Electric" 

"That  is  the  puzzle." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bradwardine,  "that  is  the 
puzzle,"  and  then  she  began  to  talk  of  her  plants 
again. 

The  next  day,  when  Mr.  Gammage  went  down  at 
an  early  hour  to  breakfast,  he  found  Pamela  in  the 


THE   KINSMAN  279 

hall,  apparently  dressed  for  a  journey.  Her  trunks 
were  being  put  on  a  cab  at  the  front  door. 

"Are  you  going  away?"  he  said,  with  a  crest- 
fallen face. 

'•'Yes,"  said  Pamela,  "Fm  going  to  Wimble- 
don." 

"Rather  sudden,  isn't  it  ?  What  became  of  you 
after  dinner  last  night?" 

"I  went  to  say  good-bye  at  the  Rectory." 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

Pamela  ran  down  the  hall  steps,  got  into  the 
cab,  and  rumbled  away.  Dawes  and  George  re- 
turned from  the  front  door. 

"Why  didn't  Miss  Pamela  have  her  own  car- 
riage?" inquired  Mr.  Gammage. 

"Miss  Blois  ordered  the  cab  by  telephone  last 
night,  sir,"  said  the  disapproving  Dawes,  and  he 
passed  magisterially  into  the  dining  room. 

In  this  way  Mr.  Gammage  learnt  that  perhaps 
he  ought  to  call  Pamela  Miss  Blois.  Otherwise 
he  learnt  nothing.  Breakfast  was  half  over  when 
Colonel  Blois  looked  up  from  his  letters  and  asked 
his  wife  why  Pamela  was  late  again  this  morning. 
Mr.  Gammage  stared  at  his  host  as  if  he  could 
hardly  believe  his  ears. 

"Miss  Pamela  left  for  Wimbledon  this  morning," 


280  THE   KINSMAN 

he  said.  "She  started  at  8.30  with  a  lot  of  lug- 
gage. She  bade  good-bye  at  the  Rectory  last 
night." 

The  Colonel  received  a  shock,  looked  hastily 
across  the  table  at  his  wife,  and  saw  that  she  was 
more  alarmed  than  astonished. 

"I  suppose  you  thought  she  ought  to  go  to-day/' 
he  suggested.  Mrs.  Blois  rose  to  the  occasion  with- 
out departing  from  the  literal  truth,  which  was 
the  only  form  of  truth  she  comprehended. 

"The  dressmakers  are  so  busy  now,"  she  said 
vaguely,  "and  the  garden  party  is  on  Tuesday." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ROGER  had  been  ill  again  for  twenty-four  hours, 
but  this  time  Mrs.  Loraine  and  a  sensible  doctor 
took  care  of  him.  He  was  now  definitely  engaged 
by  the  week  as  the  Loraines7  chauffeur.  Colonel 
Loraine  said  that  he  had  not  exactly  the  manner 
of  a  chauffeur,  but  his  wife  reminded  him  that  the 
young  man  came  from  Australia,  where  manners 
were  probably  free  and  easy.  She  had  evidently 
set  her  heart  on  keeping  "  Brown,"  and  Colonel 
Loraine  recognised  that  it  was  her  turn  to  have 
a  protege.  Very  few  women  would  have  suffered 
his  as  good-humouredly  as  she  did.  Both  the 
gardeners  were  reclaimed  characters,  and  like 
Dobbs  they  were  "ill"  sometimes;  but  Colonel 
Loraine  had  ceased  to  call  in  the  doctor  for  their 
little  attacks.  The  doctor  was  a  plain-spoken 
man,  and  the  master  of  the  house  considered  him 
a  hard  one.  He  had  rather  expected  him  to  say 
Roger  was  drunk.  This  diagnosis  was  much  in 
vogue  at  Ccesar's  Lodge.  But  Dr.  Black  did 
nothing  of  the  kind.  He  took  excellent  care  of 

281 


282  THE    KINSMAN 

Roger  and  soon  pulled  him  round.  As  yet  Roger 
had  given  no  hint  of  his  true  story,  either  to  the 
doctor  or  to  the  Loraines.  The  incredulity  with 
which  it  had  been  received  in  Trevalla  and  his 
disagreeable  adventures  there  had  left  their  mark, 
and  he  was  now  inclined  to  keep  his  lips  sealed. 
He  still  hoped  that  his  false  position  would  not 
last  long. 

On  the  Friday  morning  when  Pamela  was  ex- 
pected at  Wimbledon,  the  Loraines  were  sitting 
at  breakfast  in  a  room  facing  their  front  garden. 
Beyond  the  garden  lay  Wimbledon  Common,  with 
the  quiet  of  early  morning  and  the  haze  of  a  sum- 
mer day  on  its  wide  reaches.  Mrs.  Loraine  had 
just  reminded  her  husband  that  the  motor  ought  to 
meet  Pamela  at  King's  Cross,  and  Colonel  Loraine, 
who  had  finished  his  breakfast  and  was  feeding 
a  large  white  Persian  cat  with  fish,  tried  to  reckon 
how  long  a  chauffeur  who  did  not  know  London 
would  take  to  get  there.  In  the  end  he  sent  for 
Roger. 

"We  want  you  to  be  at  King's  Cross  at  twelve 
o'clock,"  he  said. 

"To  meet  our  niece,  Miss  Blois,  who  is  coming 
to  stay  with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Loraine. 

Luckily  the  husband  was  engaged  with  his  cat 


THE  KINSMAN  283 

and  the  wife  with  her  letters.  They  did  not  notice 
the  quiver  of  surprise  in  Roger's  face  or  the  artifi- 
cial calmness  that  followed  it. 

"Miss  Blois!"  he  repeated,  as  if  he  wished  to 
make  sure  of  the  name. 

"Yes,"  said  Colonel  Loraine.  "We  know  you 
can  manage  a  motor  on  country  roads,  but  we  have 
not  seen  you  in  London.  If  you  are  nervous  - 

"I  am  not  nervous,"  said  Roger.  He  had  con- 
sidered the  question  of  touching  his  cap  to  his 
employer  and  addressing  him  as  sir,  and  he  had 
decided  to  do  neither.  It  was  easier  to  keep  to  his 
own  manners  than  to  adopt  a  new  code;  and  he 
was  not  actor  enough  to  alter  his  voice,  his  move- 
ments, and  his  speech  as  he  had  seen  men  and 
women  do  on  the  stage  to  disguise  their  class. 
So  Colonel  Loraine  was  right  in  saying  that,  as  a 
chauffeur,  Brown  was  not  quite  correct. 

"Twelve  o'clock  at  King's  Cross,"  said  Colonel 
Loraine.  "But  how  will  you  find  the  way?" 

"By  the  map.     Does  Miss  Blois  know  the  car?" 

"I  telegraphed  the  number  last  night,"  said  Mrs. 
Loraine. 

Roger  got  out  of  the  room  as  quickly  as  he  could. 
His  ideas  were  in  a  tumult.  He  did  not  know,  of 
course,  whether  the  Miss  Blois  expected  was  Miss 


284  THE  KINSMAN 

Blois  of  Greymarsh ;  he  did  not  know  whether  Mr. 
Gammage  was  representing  him  there,  but  that 
seemed  likely.  He  felt  so  anxious  and  so  easily 
able  to  ascertain  the  first  point  that  a  little  later 
in  the  morning  he  went  up  to  Mrs.  Loraine  in 
the  garden  and  asked  her  from  what  station  her 
niece  would  arrive. 

"I  may  as  well  know,"  he  said.  "I  may  want 
to  ask  if  the  train  is  in." 

"She  comes  from  Greymarsh,  near  Eastwold," 
said  Mrs.  Loraine.  "Colonel  and  Mrs.  Blois  will 
be  coming  next  week,  I  hope,  and  we  shall  probably 
go  down  there  in  August.  We  generally  do." 

Roger  walked  up  and  down  the  room  he  had  in- 
herited from  Dobbs  and  reviewed  the  situation. 
Then  he  looked  in  the  glass  and  reviewed  his 
clothes.  He  wondered  their  present  state  of 
squalid  disrepair  had  not  cost  him  his  post.  He 
had  a  mind  to  ask  for  an  advance  of  wages  and  buy 
a  ready-made  suit.  But  a  suit  did  not  dress  a 
man.  He  needed  boots,  he  needed  collars,  he 
actually  carried  a  handkerchief  marked  P.  Dobbs. 
He  took  down  P.  Dobbs's  leather  coat  and  put  it  on. 
His  face  was  hidden  by  a  mask  and  goggles,  and  in 
this  guise  he  arrived  at  King's  Cross,  angry  and 
dejected.  On  his  way  he  had  called  at  his  bank, 


THE  KINSMAN  285 

and  made  no  impression  whatever.  The  junior 
clerk  he  saw  showed  him  his  signature  cleverly 
counterfeited  by  Mr.  Gammage,  and  raised  his  eye- 
brows derisively  at  Roger's  failure  to  reproduce  it. 
He  looked  at  Roger's  seedy  clothes,  hardly  hidden 
by  the  short,  badly-fitting  leather  coat,  and  he 
suggested  that  if  Roger  thought  it  worth  while  to 
call  again  at  all,  it  had  better  be  some  day  when 
the  manager  was  less  busy.  To-day  it  was  im- 
possible to  trouble  him.  Roger  said  something 
of  the  likeness  between  his  kinsman  and  himself, 
but  the  clerk  had  not  seen  Mr.  Gammage.  At  this 
point  his  manner  became  distinctly  uncivil,  and 
Roger  left  the  building,  because  he  did  not  want 
to  be  detained  there  by  an  interview  with  the 
police.  He  just  had  time  to  get  to  King's  Cross 
by  twelve. 

As  it  happened,  there  was  no  other  motor  wait- 
ing there,  so  when  Pamela,  followed  by  a  porter, 
came  out  of  the  station,  she  went  straight  up  to 
Roger  and  asked  if  he  had  been  sent  by  Colonel 
Loraine.  She  looked  with  eager  interest  at  the 
car  and  showed  no  interest  at  all  in  him.  She 
had  an  impression  that  he  was  tall  and  queerly 
dressed,  and  that  the  upper  part  of  his  face  was 
hidden  by  a  mask  and  most  disfiguring  goggles. 


286  THE   KINSMAN 

She  thought  that  he  looked  like  a  new  breed  of 
Guy  Fawkes,  and  she  wondered  why  he  did  not 
touch  his  cap  and  help  with  the  luggage.  So 
when  Roger  had  admitted  that  he  came  from  Mr. 
Loraine,  she  took  no  further  notice  of  him,  but 
tipped  the  porters  and  got  into  the  car.  She  had 
not  brought  her  maid. 

Meanwhile,  Roger  was  glad  that  he  had  effectu- 
ally disguised  himself.  He  saw  that  Pamela  was 
like  Mrs.  Loraine,  and  probably  like  her  mother. 
She  had  the  little  lady's  delicate  features, 
golden  hair,  and  big  grey  eyes.  She  was  not 
a  dark  Blois  at  all,  but  she  had  more  energy 
of  movement  and  expression  than  her  aunt,  and 
though  her  eyes  were  big,  they  were  not  soft 
or  dreamy.  For  some  time  she  did  not  speak. 
This  new  way  of  locomotion  fascinated  her,  and 
it  never  occurred  to  her  to  feel  afraid  of  it.  She 
saw  that  Guy  Fawkes  had  control  of  his  monster, 
and  that  he  steered  through  traffic  skilfully. 
Roger  tried  to  fix  his  whole  attention  on  the  road, 
and  found  that  this  did  not  save  him  from  a  back- 
ground of  discomfort.  He  had  not  noticed  when 
he  put  it  on  that  Dobbs's  coat  was  ravelled  at  the 
sleeves  and  wanting  in  buttons.  But  he  had 
known  since  the  morning  that  one  of  Mr.  Gam- 


THE  KINSMAN  287 

mage's  shoes  had  come  unsewn  and  showed  a  vile 
pink  sock.  He  felt  like  a  man  in  a  nightmare  who 
pays  a  visit  and  discovers  in  the  midst  of  it  that  he 
is  wearing  pajamas.  The  scarecrow  things  that 
covered  him  were  not  what  he  was  used  to  call 
decent.  But  he  had  not  known  how  intolerable 
they  were  till  he  sat  beside  Pamela.  Her  com- 
posure, her  silence,  began  to  vex  him.  If  he  had 
been  a  ghost  she  did  not  see,  she  could  not  have 
treated  him  with  less  attention.  Of  course  she  was 
justified,  but  he  began  to  wish  the  journey  at  an 
end.  Then,  just  when  there  was  a  little  knot  in 
the  traffic  that  required  his  attention,  she  spoke  for 
the  first  time. 

"Can  you  talk  while  you  steer?"  she  asked. 

" Sometimes,"  said  Roger,  manoeuvring  to  avoid 
a  newspaper  boy  on  a  bicycle. 

"It  depends  on  the  road  and  the  traffic,"  he 
added  a  moment  later,  when  they  were  at  a  stand- 
still in  a  block. 

Pamela  glanced  quickly  at  his  profile,  but  she 
could  see  nothing  except  the  tip  of  a  straight  nose 
and  a  strong,  clean-shaven  chin.  His  voice  and 
accent  had  startled  her.  A  man  who  spoke  like 
that  was  bred  a  gentleman,  whatever  he  did  for 
his  living  now.  As  she  could  see  so  little  of  his 


288  THE  KINSMAN 

face,  she  watched  his  hands,  and  she  liked  the 
shapely  length  of  them. 

"I  shall  want  to  have  a  real  quick  spin  on  coun- 
try roads/'  she  said.  "Of  course,  we  can  from 
Wimbledon." 

"Yes,"  said  Roger. 

"I  suppose  you  know  your  way  about  by  this 
time?" 

"I  only  arrived  at  Wimbledon  on  Wednesday 
morning,"  said  Roger,  "and  yesterday  I  was  not 
out." 

Pamela  looked  astonished. 

"I  thought  you  came  about  six  weeks  ago,"  she 
said;  "Mrs.  Loraine  wrote  - 

"She  takes  me  for  the  reclaimed  drunkard," 
thought  Roger. 

"I  am  not  Dobbs,"  he  said. 

"Oh,"  said  Pamela,  "I  thought  you  were." 

The  block  now  moved  forward  again,  and  here 
Roger  for  the  first  time  that  day  made  a  little 
mistake.  Instead  of  turning  into  Shaftesbury 
Avenue  he  kept  along  Oxford  Street  and  in  a  short 
time  found  himself  approaching  Oxford  Circus. 

"What  street  is  this?"  he  said  to  Pamela,  who 
had  no  bump  of  locality  but  knew  her  London 
shops. 


THE  KINSMAN  289 

"This  is  Oxford  Street,"  she  said,  looking  at 
Buzzard's  window.  "Have  you  lost  your  way? 
We  can  stop  at  the  Circus  and  ask  a  policeman." 

They  arrived  at  the  Circus  as  she  spoke.  Roger 
just  managed  to  turn  down  Regent  Street  before 
the  autocrat  in  office  held  up  his.  hand. 

"Why  didn't  you  stop?"  said  Pamela. 

"Did  you  want  to?" 

"I  want  to  get  to  Wimbledon." 

"You  will  get  there." 

"But  you  don't  know  the  way.  Can't  you  find 
a  Putney  omnibus  and  keep  behind  it  ?  " 

Roger  only  smiled,  and  seeing  a  clear  space 
before  him  whizzed  smoothly  past  a  whole  proces- 
sion of  omnibuses. 

Pamela  made  up  her  mind  that  she  disliked  this 
man.  Doubtless  he  was  one  of  her  uncle's  "re- 
formed" characters,  a  gentleman  who  had  gone  to 
the  dogs  and  was  being  coaxed  back  to  respect- 
ability. She  was  not  a  girl  to  weave  sentiment 
into  this  idea,  and  feel  a  romantic  interest  in 
Roger  on  account  of  it.  On  the  contrary,  in 
the  hardness  of  her  youth,  she  thought  men  who 
once  went  to  the  dogs  returned  there,  and  she 
wished  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  them.  She 
had  observed  the  slight  trembling  in  Roger's 


290  THE  KINSMAN 

right  hand,  and  she  drew  her  own  conclu- 
sions. 

"I  suppose  you  are  used  to  motors,  though  you 
are  new  to  London,"  she  said  after  a  time.  "Have 
you  always  lived  in  England?" 

"I  arrived  in  England  on  Whit-Monday,"  said 
Roger.  "I  am  an  Australian." 

"How  odd  !"  said  Pamela.  "We  have  an  Aus- 
tralian staying  with  us,  and  he  arrived  in  England 
on  Whit-Monday." 

That  was  an  interesting  bit  of  information  to 
Roger,  but  at  the  time  he  made  no  comment  on  it. 
They  were  now  in  the  Fulham  Road,  about  a  mile 
from  Putney  Bridge.  Pamela,  however,  did  not 
recognise  it. 

"I'm  quite  sure  we  are  wrong  again,"  she  said. 
"I've  often  stayed  in  Wimbledon,  but  I've  never 
been  here  before." 

"I'm  surprised  to  hear  that,"  said  Roger,  who 
did  not  believe  it. 

"Stop  the  car,  please,"  said  Pamela;  "I'll  get 
out  and  make  inquiries." 

"Sit  still,"  said  Roger,  imperiously;  for  he  had 
slowed  down  for  a  moment  and  the  girl  had  half 
risen  from  her  seat,  while  straight  ahead  he  saw  a 
stretch  of  empty  road.  He  increased  the  pace  as 


THE  KINSMAN  291 

he  spoke,  and  before  Pamela  could  remonstrate, 
she  saw  Putney  Bridge  and  the  reach  of  river 
known  to  her.  But  as  they  flew  over  it  and  up 
Putney  Hill  she  made  up  her  mind  again  that 
the  new  chauffeur  was  odious,  and  as  they  flashed 
across  Wimbledon  Common  she  did  not  speak  to 
him. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

As  the  stable  clock  struck  one  they  arrived  at 
Caesar's  Lodge.  Roger  got  down  and  offered  his 
hand  to  Pamela,  but  she  seemed  not  to  see  it. 
She  ran  past  him  into  the  arms  of  Mrs.  Loraine, 
who  was  waiting  in  the  porch.  They  disappeared 
into  the  house  together,  and  Roger  went  in  search 
of  Colonel  Loraine.  He  found  him  in  a  greenhouse 
meditating  on  a  rose  afflicted  with  green  fly. 

"I'm  afraid  Drummond  is  getting  rather  care- 
less," he  said  with  a  sigh. 

As  Drummond  was  rarely  sober,  Roger  could  not 
feel  surprised,  but  it  was  not  his  business  to  say 
so.  He  had  sought  out  his  employer  to  ask  for  an 
advance  of  money  and  the  use  of  the  car  for  two 
hours.  He  wanted  to  go  straight  back  to  London 
and  buy  some  respectable  clothes. 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  Colonel  Loraine, 
scanning  Roger's  raiment.  "We  ought  to  have 
thought  of  it.  You  came  to  us  without  luggage, 
didn't  you  ?  By  the  way,  where  are  your  things  ?  " 

292 


THE  KINSMAN  293 

"I  hope  to  get  hold  of  them  again  soon/'  said 
Roger. 

After  a  little  further  discussion  Colonel  Loraine 
offered  to  buy  his  chauffeur  new  leathers  and  to 
lend  him  five  pounds  for  his  immediate  needs. 
Roger  accepted  the  advance  of  money,  but  said 
he  would  rather  not  put  Colonel  Loraine  to  any 
expense  until  he  felt  sure  of  staying  on.  He  took 
down  the  name  and  address  of  a  well-known 
"ready-made"  tailor,  and  he  promised  to  be  back 
in  time  to  take  the  ladies  out  that  afternoon. 
Colonel  Loraine  then  toddled  back  to  the  house  to 
welcome  his  niece.  He  found  her  sitting  in  the 
breakfast  room  with  his  wife,  but  the  luncheon 
gong  sounded  as  they  shook  hands. 

"You've  come  away  in  a  great  hurry,"  he  began 
as  they  sat  down  to  table.  Pamela  helped  herself 
to  a  fish  souffle  and  admitted  that  her  journey 
here  had  been  sudden. 

"Clothes?"  suggested  Mrs.  Loraine. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  said  Colonel  Loraine,  "you 
can't  have  the  motor  till  Brown  gets  back.  He 
has  gone  in  again  to  buy  clothes." 

"He  needs  them,"  said  Pamela.  "Where  did 
you  pick  him  up,  uncle?  In  an  orchard?" 

"On  the  top  of  a  moor,"  said  Mrs.  Loraine. 


294  THE   KINSMAN 

"Wait  till  you  hear  the  whole  story,  Pam.  You'll 
wonder  who  the  dickens  he  is.  I  do." 

Pamela  responded  politely,  and  then  began  to 
talk  about  the  garden  party  on  Tuesday  and  the 
people  she  expected  to  meet  there.  She  wanted 
to  arrange  a  meeting  with  the  Bradwardines,  she 
said,  mentioned  Kitty's  wedding,  and  then  halted 
in  confusion  because  she  suddenly  remembered 
that  she  would  not  be  at  Greymarsh  for  it  unless 
she  forgave  her  father  or  got  him  to  forgive  her. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Colonel  Loraine,  "I  suppose 
your  father  and  mother  are  coming  on  Monday?" 

"I've  no  idea,"  said  Pamela. 

"Didn't  they  send  a  message?" 

"I  left  before  they  were  up." 

The  Loraines  could  not  express  the  surprise 
they  felt,  because  the  maids  came  into  the  room 
again  just  then.  When  they  had  removed  meats 
and  served  sweets  they  departed. 

"I've  run  away,"  said  Pamela. 

"My  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Loraine. 

"I  was  so  glad  I  had  you  to  run  to.  It's  respect- 
able to  run  away  to  your  only  uncle  and  aunt, 
and  I  like  being  respectable.  I  suppose  it  comes 
of  living  in  the  country.  In  future  I  mean  to  live 
with  you  and  help  Uncle  Henry  with  his  pets,  so 
I  shan't  be  as  respectable  as  I  have  been." 


THE   KINSMAN  295 

"Live  with  us!"  gasped  Mrs.  Loraine. 

"I  wish  you  would  !"  said  Colonel  Loraine. 

"But  your  father—    '  suggested  Mrs.  Loraine. 

"Dad  offended  me/'  said  Pamela.  "I  am  not 
going  back  till  he  apologises.  So  I  shall  never  go 
back.  You  know  Dad." 

"I  know  you  both,"  said  the  little  lady. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  his  part?"  asked 
Pamela,  in  a  mighty  taking. 

"Possibly,"  said  Mrs.  Loraine,  and  the  twinkle 
in  her  eyes  had  the  effect  of  a  dash  of  water  on 
Pamela's  little  bubble  of  rage. 

"You  won't  when  you  see  the  Australian," 
she  said. 

"What  has  he  to  do  with  it?"  asked  Colonel 
Loraine,  and  then  wondered  why  the  two  women 
laughed  at  the  slow-moving  mind  of  man. 

"I'll  ask  him  to  come  with  them  on  Monday," 
said  Mrs.  Loraine. 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  run  away  from  here,"  said 
Pamela,  but  after  a  little  argument  she  admitted 
that  the  plan  had  something  in  it.  She  would  not 
have  said  so  for  the  world,  but  she  was  really  un- 
easy about  her  father's  next  move.  Suppose  he 
followed  her  and  insisted  on  her  going  back  with 
him. 


296  THE  KINSMAN 

"I  should  have  the  courage  to  oppose  him,"  she 
said,  putting  the  case  to  her  uncle  and  aunt  as 
they  sat  in  the  garden  after  lunch. 

"I  should  not,"  said  Mrs.  Loraine.  "I  always 
knock  under  to  a  big  maa.  That's  why  I  married 
a  little  one." 

"Your  father  is  not  easy  to  oppose,"  said  Colo- 
nel Loraine. 

"What  does  Mrs.  Blois  think  of  this  young 
man?"  asked  Mrs.  Loraine. 

"Just  what  I  do;   but  she  is  afraid  to  say  so." 

This  sounded  so  like  Mrs.  Blois  that  Mrs.  Loraine 
could  not  help  smiling.  Then  the  conference  came 
to  an  end,  and  Pamela  was  left  to  her  own  devices, 
because,  as  her  uncle  and  aunt  explained,  she  had 
come  before  she  was  wanted,  and  they  had  en- 
gagements they  could  not  miss.  Colonel  Loraine 
reminded  her  that  the  car  would  be  at  her  dis- 
posal when  it  came  back.  Pamela  said  she  thought 
she  would  rather  hang  about  the  garden.  But  it 
was  not  a  large  garden,  and  it  was  a  brilliant  after- 
noon. At  first  she  sat  in  the  shade  and  looked  at 
the  illustrated  papers.  Then  she  walked  up  and 
down  the  paths  and  compared  the  badly  tended 
flower  borders  with  the  trimly  kept  ones  at  Grey- 
marsh.  Then  she  went  into  the  house  and  found 


THE  KINSMAN  297 

that  her  aunt's  maid  had  unpacked  and  put  away 
her  clothes.  She  hardly  knew  what  to  do  next, 
but  from  her  bedroom  window  the  Common  looked 
inviting.  As  she  put  on  her  hat  for  a  stroll  there 
the  parlour-maid  arrived  with  a  message  from  the 
chauffeur.  He  wished  to  know  whether  Miss 
Blois  would  go  out  that  afternoon. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  said  Pamela,  and  she  went  down- 
stairs at  once,  with  a  long,  gauze  veil  lent  her  by 
Mrs.  Loraine  tied  correctly  over  her  hat  and  a 
long,  white  dust-coat  over  her  arm. 

The  motor  was  waiting  at  the  front  door.  The 
chauffeur  still  wore  his  mask,  but  otherwise  it 
seemed  to  Pamela  that  everything  he  had  on  was 
new.  He  no  longer  looked  as  if  he  had  been  picked 
up  in  an  orchard,  she  thought,  and  she  wished  he 
would  take  off  his  goggles. 

"Can  we  get  right  into  the  country?"  she  asked, 
as  they  started. 

"We  can  get  to  Farnham  and  be  back  by  seven, 
if  that  will  do,"  said  Roger. 

Pamela  had  heard  his  story  as  far  as  it  was 
known  to  the  Loraines,  and  now  as  she  sat  beside 
him  she  tried  to  fill  it  out.  He  was  of  her  own 
caste.  That  he  had  made  plain  this  morning 
directly  he  opened  his  mouth  —  even  bef ore. 


298  THE  KINSMAN 

indeed.  The  differences  between  him  and  the 
Australian,  for  example,  were  quite  unmistakable, 
though  they  were  difficult  to  seize  and  express 
in  the  clumsy  medium  of  words.  This  man  re- 
minded her  of  the  other  in  build  and  complexion. 
He  even  had  the  same  contour  of  jaw  and  neck, 
and  chin  and  the  same  shaped  head.  But  he 
never  dropped  his  jaw,  as  the  Australian  often 
did ;  he  had  the  hands  of  a  well-bred  man  and  the 
easy  composure  of  manner.  She  was  still  pre- 
pared to  dislike  him,  but  she  hoped  he  was  not 
going  to  insist  on  a  dogged  silence.  Under  the 
circumstances  she  considered  that  it  was  her  pre- 
rogative to  set  the  terms  of  their  intercourse  while 
they  were  out  together,  and  as  she  was  interested 
she  was  inclined  for  conversation. 

"I  can't  think  how  you  know  your  way,"  she 
began. 

"I  look  at  a  map  before  I  start." 

"But  how  can  you  remember?" 

"I  bring  one  with  me  in  case  I  forget." 

"It  looks  very  easy,"  said  Pamela;  "I  think  I'll 
try  it  myself  when  we  come  to  a  clear  road." 

"Not  to-day,"  said  Roger. 

"Why  not?" 

"I  should  like  to  have  Colonel  Loraine's  con- 


THE  KINSMAN  299 

sent  first ;  and  it  is  Saturday  afternoon  —  we 
shan't  find  clear  roads." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Pamela,  "that  you  are  new 
to  motors,  and  rather  nervous." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Roger. 

"But  you  get  along  very  well  —  even  in  traffic. 
Have  you  ever  had  an  accident?" 

"Little  ones  —  nothing  serious." 

"Dogs,  I  suppose  —  not  people?" 

"I'm  rather  fond  of  dogs,"  said  Roger,  curtly; 
and  Pamela  had  the  grace  to  feel  ashamed  of  her- 
self and  to  lead  the  conversation  round  to  the 
points  of  her  Bedlington  pup. 

They  got  to  Wisley  at  five  o'clock,  and  as  they 
approached  the  Hut  Pamela  remembered  that  she 
had  come  away  without  tea.  The  afternoon  sun 
was  on  the  pine  woods,  the  water  looked  cool 
and  inviting. 

"Stop,  please,"  she  said  to  Roger.  "I  think 
we'll  get  out  here  and  have  tea." 

"Then  we  shall  not  get  to  Farnham,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  care,"  said  the  girl.  "I'm  dizzy  and 
thirsty.  I've  never  been  in  a  motor  before,  and 
we've  come  so  quick.  Besides,  I'm  sure  you  must 
be  tired.  You've  been  out  all  day." 

Roger  did  not  know  how  to  refuse,  and  he  did 


300  THE  KINSMAN 

not  wish  to  consent.  He  thought  that  the  Lo- 
raines  might  consider  Pamela  too  young  and  pretty 
to  sit  by  herself  in  the  crowded  garden  of  an  inn, 
and  he  could  not  offer  to  sit  with  her.  If  he  did  sit 
with  her,  he  would  have  to  take  off  his  mask. 
That  moment  must  come,  of  course.  He  could 
not  hope  to  hide  from  her  throughout  her  visit, 
though  he  would  very  much  rather  have  done  so 
while  he  was  acting  as  her  uncle's  chauffeur. 
When  he  was  Roger  Blois  again,  the  Loraines 
would  know  him,  so  his  sojourn  with  them  could 
not  be  hidden;  but  then  he  would  be  in  a  posi- 
tion to  treat  his  present  adventure  as  an  amusing 
one.  He  rapidly  made  up  his  mind  not  to  dis- 
close himself  yet,  even  if  he  had  to  unmask.  He 
had  learned  to  dread  the  incredulity  with  which 
his  story  was  received.  He  felt  more  troubled 
than  amused  as  he  stopped  the  car  in  front  of  the 
Hut  and  watched  Pamela  get  down.  She  hesi- 
tated, looked  at  the  people  standing  about  near 
the  inn,  and  made  up  her  mind. 

"Can  you  leave  the  car?"  she  said  to  Roger. 

"Is  it  necessary?" 

"If  we  are  to  have  tea  in  the  garden,  it  is,"  said 
she. 

Roger  stood  up  and  took  off  his  new  dust-coat. 


THE  KINSMAN  301 

Beneath  it  he  now  appeared  in  a  quiet,  dark  tweed 
suit  that  fitted  him  better  than  he  had  supposed 
ready-made  clothes  could.  Then  he  took  off  his 
goggles.  Pamela  had  her  back  turned  to  him  as 
he  did  so.  He  had  descended  from  the  car  when 
she  faced  him  again,  and  stood  in  petrified  sur- 
prise, her  eyes  wide  and  angry,  the  words  she  had 
been  about  to  say  frozen  on  her  lips.  Her  first 
thought  was  that  the  Australian  had  somehow 
stolen  a  march  on  her  and  taken  advantage  of  it. 

" You!7'  she  said.     "You!" 

Roger  saw  bewilderment  struggle  with  aversion 
as  her  glance  fell  on  his  hands  and  then  darted 
back  again  to  his  face. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  said. 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  said  Roger. 

"Because  that  man  at  home  —  the  Australian 
I  told  you  of  —  is  the  image  of  you  —  he  is  you  — 
and  yet  he  is  not.  His  hands  are  different, 
and  his  speech,  and  his  manner;  yet  the 
resemblance  is  amazing.  It  is  like  a  night- 
mare." 

"What  does  your  Australian  call  himself?" 

"Roger  Blois.  He  is  some  connection  of  ours. 
His  father  or  grandfather  was  a  cousin.  But  you 
are  a  Blois  —  to  look  at  —  and  you  say  you  come 


302  THE  KINSMAN 

from  Australia.  Have  you  kinsmen  over 
here?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  Roger. 

Pamela  wanted  to  ask  other  questions,  but 
Roger's  manner  gave  her  the  impression  that  he 
would  not  want  to  answer  them.  The  startling 
likeness  between  the  two  men  did  not  blind  her  to 
the  far  more  weighty  and  interesting  fact  of  their 
wide  divergence.  She  could  see  that  this  man  in 
his  anger  had  almost  forgotten  her;  had  quite 
forgotten  his  official  position.  He  led  the  way 
to  the  garden,  chose  a  table,  and  ordered  tea  before 
he  spoke  again.  She  sat  down  where  he  placed 
a  chair  for  her  and  looked  at  him. 

"It  is  just  as  if  you  were  an  actor  and  played 
two  parts,"  she  said  suddenly.  "At  least  it  would 
be  if  it  were  not  for  your  hands  .  .  .  and  .  .  . 
other  things." 

She  had  stared  too  much,  she  felt  suddenly,  as 
her  eyes  met  Roger's.  After  all,  the  resemblance 
was  as  superficial  as  that  between  a  diamond 
brooch  and  its  five-shilling  imitation.  She  com- 
pared Roger's  glance  with  his  prototype's  dull 
stare  and  Roger's  fine  mouth  with  the  loose  lips 
of  the  Australian. 

"Shall  I  tell  them  at  home?"  she  said. 


THE   KINSMAN  303 

m 
"I  beg  you  not  to,"  said  Roger.    "I  have  to  put 

my  hands  on  that  young  man,  and  if  you  warn 
him  —  " 

"Then  you  know  him?" 

"Yes.     I  know  him." 

"You  don't  think  well  of  him?" 

Pamela's  glance  was  eager  and  told  more  of 
her  mind  than  she  knew. 

"You  will  have  done  with  him  in  a  couple  of 
days,"  said  Roger.  "I  must  go  and  see  your 
father  and  a  Mrs.  Bradwardine,  who  lives  — J 

"You  know  Mrs.  Bradwardine?" 

"Yes.  Has  she  seen  anything  of  your  Aus- 
tralian?" 

"Not  much.  It  is  rather  odd.  She  wrote  from 
Rockmouth  to  say  that  he  was  quite  charming. 
None  of  us  understand  why  she  said  so ;  and  now 
she  seems  to  think  him  as  impossible  as  we  do. 
In  fact,  she  suggests  that  there  is  something 
wrong  about  him." 

"So  there  is,"  said  Roger,  bluntly. 

Pamela  could  have  clapped  her  hands. 

"Then  I  shan't  have  to  marry  him!"  she  cried 
out  impulsively. 

"Marry  him  !     You  !     He  has  dared  - 

His  anger  both  pleased  and  frightened  Pamela; 


304  THE  KINSMAN 

but  she  hung  her  head  at  the  thought  of  her 
indiscretion. 

"My  father—  she  stammered.  "It  is  a 
question  of  property." 

"Oh!"  said  Roger,  and  he  smiled  at  the  girl. 

"They  are  coming  up  next  week/'  Pamela  went 
on  hurriedly,  for  she  felt  very  red  and  uncomfort- 
able. "Mrs.  Bradwardine  comes  on  Monday,  and 
my  father  and  mother  and  Mr.  Blois  either  on 
Monday  or  Tuesday." 

"Is  that  certain?"  asked  Roger. 

Pamela  seemed  to  think  it  was.  Then  tea  came, 
and  she  poured  it  out,  and  they  talked  of  other 
things.  When  they  had  finished  Roger  went  into 
the  inn  to  pay,  and  Pamela  waited  for  him  near 
the  car.  She  watched  him  when  he  came  out  of  the 
door  and  walked  briskly  towards  her.  He  was  not 
taller  than  the  man  at  Greymarsh,  but  he  moved 
differently.  Yet  at  a  little  distance  the  resem- 
blance was  close  enough  to  give  her  a  recurring 
sense  of  shock.  As  she  had  said,  she  could  im- 
agine that  she  knew  one  man  who  deftly  played 
two  parts.  But  she  had  seen  Roger's  eyes  blaze 
with  an  anger  before  which  her  own  little  spurts 
of  temper  would  break,  she  felt,  like  bubbles  in 
a  gale ;  and  she  had  seen  them  dwell  on  her  with 


THE  KINSMAN  305 

a  friendliness  that  set  her  dreaming.  Her  pre- 
occupation with  him  was  justifiable,  she  assured 
herself  directly  it  disturbed  her.  Why  did  he  say 
he  must  see  her  father  and  Mrs.  Bradwardine? 
What  did  he  want  of  them  and  of  the  Australian  ? 
Why  was  he  acting  as  a  paid  chauffeur? 

As  she  watched  him  she  saw  him  stopped  by  a 
middle-aged,  bearded  man  who  looked  like  a  sailor. 
They  talked  earnestly  together  for  a  minute,  then 
shook  hands  and  separated.  Roger  took  a  note- 
book from  his  pocket  and  made  an  entry  before 
he  came  on  to  the  car ;  and  he  helped  her  in  and 
started  without  speaking.  But  after  a  silence  she 
knew  to  be  absorbed,  he  said,  as  they  were  nearing 
Esher :  — 

"Have  you  received  a  small  kangaroo  at  Grey- 
marsh  lately?" 

"Yes,"  said  Pamela.  "Mr.  Blois  got  him  for 
me,  because  the  other  died." 

"What  other?" 

"The  one  on  the  Electric  —  the  one  he  told  us 
he  was  bringing." 

"The  only  kangaroo  on  the  Electric  is  now  at 
Greymarsh,"  said  Roger.  "It  belonged  to  the 
sailor  you  just  saw  and  was  bought  for  you  before 
the  ship  left.  The  sailor  looked  after  it  on  the 


306  THE  KINSMAN 

voyage  and  took  it  up  to  London  with  him.  He 
was  to  send  it  from  there  because  the  journey  was 
shorter  than  from  Rockmouth." 

"Then  Mr.  Blois  has  said  what  is  not  true,"  said 
Pamela,  after  a  little  pause.  "But  did  the  sailor 
mistake  you  for  him?  Is  that  why  he  spoke  to 
you?" 

"The  sailor  knew  me  well  enough,"  said  Roger, 
evasively.  "I  saw  him  nearly  every  day  on  the 
Electric" 

"Did  you  see  the  little  kangaroo,  too?" 

"Rather.     It  was  as  tame  as  a  kitten." 

"Do  you  think  it  would  know  you  again?" 

"I  think  it  might." 

"It  didn't  know  Mr.  Blois." 

"I'm  not  surprised  at  that,"  said  Roger. 

"I  wish  you'd  come  to  Greymarsh  and  catch 
it,"  said  Pamela. 

"I  promise  you  I'll  try,"  he  replied. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WHILE  Pamela  was  at  dinner  with  her  uncle  and 
aunt,  Roger  went  out  for  a  stroll  on  the  Common. 
He  soon  came  to  a  bench  in  a  quiet  part  of  it,  and 
he  sat  down  here  to  smoke.  He  had  to  make  up 
his  mind  whether  he  should  put  off  his  settlement 
with  Mr.  Gammage  three  days  longer,  and  then 
act  for  himself,  or  whether  it  would  be  better  to 
communicate  with  the  London  police  to-morrow. 
He  thought  the  police  would  probably  raise  offi- 
cial difficulties  and  lose  more  than  three  days  in 
the  end ;  and  he  did  not  want  to  be  Robert  Brown 
an  hour  longer  than  he  need.  Mr.  Gammage's 
torn  shoes  and  the  frayed  edges  of  his  pink  shirt 
were  trifles,  but  they  rankled  in  Roger's  memory. 
The  arrival  of  Pamela  had  made  the  whole  situa- 
tion insufferable.  Besides,  he  thought  it  would 
be  more  satisfactory  to  deal  with  his  kinsman 
himself  than  to  see  him  in  the  slow  and  formal 
hands  of  the  law. 

He  had  lighted  his  pipe  and  was  revolving  these 
matters  in  his  mind,  when  he  heard  a  girl's  voice 

307 


308  THE  KINSMAN 

say  just  behind  him  that  she  felt  tired  and  would 
like  a  rest  before  going  home.  A  man's  voice  an- 
swered in  jocular  cockney  that  seats  were  cheap 
to-day  and  she  might  as  well  have  what  she 
wanted.  Roger  went  on  smoking,  and  did  not 
look  at  the  two  people,  who  now  came  close  to 
him.  But  they  started  when  they  saw  him,  looked 
at  each  other,  looked  hard  at  him,  and  showed 
every  symptom  of  extreme  agitation  and  surprise. 
At  last  the  girl,  who  had  attracted  his  attention  by 
her  manner,  spoke  to  him. 

"Bert!"  she  said,  not  unkindly. 

"Ole  chap!"  said  the  young  man. 

"My  name  is  not  Bert,"  said  Roger,  but  he 
looked  at  the  two  young  people  attentively. 

"Pore  old  chap!"  said  the  man.  "Don't  you 
know  us?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't,"  said  Roger. 

"Julia  thought  you  might  come  back  to  your 
old  haunts,"  said  the  girl.  "She  wrote  to  warn 
us." 

"To  warn  you?" 

"She  said  you'd  pretend  not  to  know  us  if  we 
met,  but  that  you  wouldn't  do  anyone  any  harm 
unless  they  interfered  with  you.  Perhaps  you'd 
like  to  see  her  letter." 


THE  KINSMAN  309 

"I  should." 

"You  know  Julia  right  enough,  then?" 

"Oh,  yes/7  said  Roger,  with  a  sigh.  "I  know 
Julia.  She  lives  at  Trevalla,  near  Rockmouth." 

"It's  the  same  Julia,"  cried  the  girl.  "That 
proves  it,  I'm  sure.  Don't  you  agree  with  me, 
Jim?" 

"Don't  I  always  agree  with  you?"  said  Jim. 

"Why  don't  you  know  us  if  you  know  Julia?" 
said  the  girl,  turning  to  Roger. 

"I  suppose  it's  because  I've  never  seen  you 
before,"  said  Roger,  in  a  tone  of  polite  apology. 
"But  I  think  I  can  guess — " 

"'E  doesn't  talk  a  bit  like  Bert,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Salter. 

"Just  what  struck  me,"  said  the  girl.  "But 
Bert  was  a  first-rate  mimic.  Sometimes  when 
father  called  him  a  duke  he'd  talk  like  one  till  we 
all  screamed." 

"I'm  not  mimicking  anyone,"  said  Roger, 
rather  wearily. 

"Mr.  Salter  has  your  room  now,"  said  the  girl. 
"We've  put  up  fresh  curtains.  You  remember 
those  old  Turkey-red  ones  you  burnt  a  hole  in  — 
well,  when  it  came  to  spring  cleaning 
them—" 


310  THE  KINSMAN 

"I  never  saw  the  curtains,"  said  Roger.  "I 
was  never  in  the  room." 

"Rats,"  said  Mr.  Salter. 

"Just  so,"  said  the  girl.  "You're  Bert  all  right, 
and  I  want  a  word  with  you.  Jim,  would  you 
mind  walking  as  far  as  that  tree  over  there  and 
walking  slowly?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know,  Florrie,"  began  Mr.  Salter, 
but  a  look  from  Florrie  left  him  no  choice.  She 
was  not  a  young  lady  who  would  stand  any  non- 


sense. 
it 


You  may  have  observed,"  she  said,  as  soon  as 
her  admirer  was  out  of  hearing,  "you  may  have 
observed  that  I  now  call  that  gentleman  Jim." 

"I  heard  you,"  admitted  Roger. 

"We're  engaged." 

"My  congratulations  to  Mr.  Jim." 

"Mr.  Salter  is  his  name,  as  you  know,  and  none 
better.  I'm  telling  you  about  it  because  I  want 
you  to  understand  that  I  bear  you  and  Julia  no 
malice.  At  the  same  time  I  must  say  you  treated 
me  badly.  After  borrowing  a  pound  to  get  there, 
too." 

"It  certainly  sounds  inglorious,"  said  Roger. 

"When  I  received  Julia's  letter  saying  you  were 
not  drowned  after  all,  and  were  engaged  to  her, 


THE  KINSMAN  311 

I  was  too  riled  to  care  what  happened  to  you. 
I  said  to  mother:  'Let  him  be  ill.  It'll  do  him 
good/  I  did,  really." 

"Why  were  you  riled?"  asked  Roger.  "Was 
I  by  any  chance  engaged  to  you  too?" 

"There  was  no  excuse/'  continued  the  girl. 
"You  must  have  been  playin'  about  with  Julia 
before  the  rocks  knocked  you  dotty." 

"But  after  all,"  urged  Roger,  "if  I  liked  Julia, 
and  if  Julia  liked  me  — 

"You'd  no  right  to  like  anyone  .  .  .  but  me." 

"Is  that  so?"   said  Roger. 

"You  would  never  so  much  as  have  seen  Julia  if 
I  hadn't  lent  you  the  money." 

"Well,"  said  Roger,  knocking  out  his  pipe,  "I 
must  say  I  don't  seem  to  have  been  worth  having. 
I'm  glad  you  haven't  fretted  for  me." 

"I  did  fret  ...  at  first,"  said  Florrie.  "I'm 
not  going  to  any  more,  though.  Jim's  worth  a 
dozen  of  you,  if  his  nose  is  no  particular 
shape." 

All  this  time  the  girl  had  sat  in  one  corner  of 
the  bench,  her  face  turned  towards  Roger,  her 
eyes  examining  his  handsome  profile ;  but  it  was 
with  a  sudden  start  of  recognition  and  excite- 
ment that  she  now  leaned  forward  and  pointed  to 


312  THE  KINSMAN 

a  tobacco  pouch  Roger  had  just  taken  from  his 
pocket. 

"That  is  Bert's  pouch/'  she  cried  to  Mr.  Salter, 
now  returning  from  his  tree.  "  Those  are  not 
Bert's  hands.  Where  is  Bert?" 

11  Steady  on,"  said  Jim. 

"I've  a  good  mind  to  call  a  policeman,"  said 
Florrie.  "How  do  we  know  Bert  isn't  murdered ? " 

"Are  you  talking  about  a  man  called  Her- 
bert Gammage,  who  was  at  Trevalla  on  Whit- 
Monday?"  said  Roger. 

"That's  him,"  said  Mr.  Salter. 

Roger  was  now  slowly  refilling  his  pipe  from  the 
embroidered  pouch  he  had  found  in  his  kinsman's 
old  coat.  He  cast  about  for  the  shortest  way  of 
telling  his  story. 

"I  was  at  Trevalla,  too,  on  Whit-Monday,"  he 
said.  "I  went  for  a  swim  and  left  my  clothes  on 
the  beach.  Mr.  Gammage  got  into  them  and  has 
passed  himself  off  for  me  ever  since.  We  had 
met,  so  he  knew  of  the  likeness  between  us." 

"Crikey!"  said  Mr.  Salter. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  Julia  was  in  the  house 
with  you  for  days  and  never  spotted  you  weren't 
Bert?"  cried  Florrie.  "She  must  be  thick.  I 
certainly  made  the  mistake  at  first  —  I  might 


THE  KINSMAN  313 

make  it  again  —  when  you  look  away  like  that  — 
just  your  profile  and  your  colour  and  your  shoul- 
ders —  it  might  take  in  anyone.  But  where  is 
Bert?  You  haven't  told  us  that  yet." 

"I  thought  you  had  a  letter  to  read  me,"  sug- 
gested Roger. 

"I  have,"  said  Florrie,  taking  a  letter  from  her 
pocket.  "I  couldn't  make  head  or  tail  of  it 
before,  but  perhaps  now  — " 

"Dear  Cousin  Florrie"  (she  began)  — 

"Poor  Bert  has  left  us.  I  don't  mean  that  he 
be  dead,  but  Dr.  Spott  wanted  to  lock  him  up  be- 
cause he  says  he's  someone  else.  So  I  helped  him 
jump  out  of  the  window,  and  give  him  my  pig. 
There  isn't  any  harm  in  him  really,  only  he  fought 
Dr.  Spott,  and  so  he  is  raging.  I  don't  know  now 
whether  we'm  to  be  married,  because  I  wish  to 
marry  Bert,  and  he  says  he  is  not  Bert.  I  should 
like  to  be  quite  sure  before  it  came  to  marriage. 
If  you  see  him,  tell  him  Dr.  Spott  swore  awful 
when  he  found  me  in  the  room,  and  when  that 
drunken  chap  came  back  in  Farmer  Smith's  dog- 
cart all  the  men  cussed  and  quarrelled  so  that  us 
never  had  such  goings  on.  Dr.  Spott  went  off 
to  Rockmouth  to  find  the  police  and  send  them 
after  Bert,  but  he  were  too  late.  He  and  faither 


314  THE   KINSMAN 

have  fallen  out  over  his  bill  and  if  quite  convenient 
I  should  like  to  visit  you  now  instead  of  before 
because  I  be  very  unhappy  and  I  think  Bert  will 
go  to  your  house  one  of  these  days." 

"Bert  seems  to  be  wandering  about  with  a 
tame  pig,"  said  Mr.  Salter.  "But  it  wasn't 
Bert  —  it  was  you  —  I'm  gettin'  mixed." 

Roger  explained  those  points  in  Julia's  letter 
that  were  still  obscure.  He  heard  that  she  was 
expected  in  Barnes  on  Monday,  and  he  refused 
politely  but  decisively  to  give  Bert's  present 
address. 

"I  can't  afford  to  let  him  take  fright  and  make 
off,"  he  said.  "I  want  him." 

"The  question  is,"  said  Mr.  Salter,  "what  do 
you  want  him  for?" 

"Isn't  that  obvious?" 

"In  a  way  it  is.  If  Bert  has  collared  your 
name  and  your  oof  and  generally  played  the  goat 
all  this  time,  of  course  he'll  have  to  climb  down 
and  be  Mr.  'Erbert  Gammage  again  and  eat  dirt 
in  old  Angelo's  office  if  old  Angelo  will  let  him. 
But  it's  plain  to  me,  knowing  Bert  as  I  do,  that  he 
thought  you  were  drowned.  He  was  a  bit  easy,  but 
he  wasn't  a  bad  chap,  and  when  he  stepped  into 
your  shoes  his  own  were  pinching  him.  See?" 


THE  KINSMAN  315 

"I  can't  say  I  do.  Why  didn't  he  find  out 
whether  I  was  dead  or  alive?" 

''How  could  he,  without  giving  himself  away  ?" 
said  Florrie.  "Why  should  Mr.  Roger  Blois  in- 
quire after  the  'ealth  of  Mr.  Gammage?" 

"No  doubt  he  had  to  mind  his  p's  and  q's. 
You  can't  ever  say  again,  Jim,  that  Bert  isn't 
clever." 

"He's  so  clever  that  he'll  probably  find  himself 
in  gaol  before  long,"  said  Roger,  grimly;  "he  has 
forged  my  signature  at  the  bank." 

Florrie  turned  a  little  paler,  rose  to  her  feet,  and 
signed  to  Mr.  Salter  to  follow  her  lead. 

"Good  evening,"  she  said.  "I  hope  you  won't 
be  hard  on  Bert." 

"Will  you  give  me  your  address?"   said  Roger. 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Florrie;  "we've  no  wish 
to  meddle." 

"But  you  want  justice  done? " 

"We're  not  particular,"  said  Mr.  Salter. 

"Yes,  we  are,  Jim,"  cried  Florrie.  "I'm  sur- 
prised at  you.  But  if  you  ask  me,  I  can't  see  as 
Bert  is  so  much  to  blame  as  all  that.  Anyhow, 
he's  our  friend,  and  you  can  find  someone  else  to 
help  you  send  him  to  prison." 

"No  doubt  he's  done  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Salter, 


316  THE  KINSMAN 

uneasily;  "but  why  should  we  give  him  a 
kick?" 

"Very  well/'  said  Roger,  getting  up  too.  "I 
have  no  doubt  I  shall  be  able  to  settle  Mr.  Gam- 
mage  without  your  help." 

"Jest  so,"  said  Mr.  Salter,  and  politely  lifted  his 
hat  as  he  went  away. 

Meanwhile  the  evening  post  had  brought  letters 
from  Greymarsh  to  Mrs.  Loraine  and  Pamela. 
Mrs.  Blois  had  written  a  long,  rambling  letter  to 
Pamela,  in  which  her  clothes,  her  father,  the 
Australian,  and  the  kangaroo  were  so  entangled 
that  the  girl's  rippling  laugh  as  she  read  it  at- 
tracted her  aunt's  attention. 

"I  have  several  things  to  tell  you  about  the 
kangaroo,"  Pamela  read  aloud.  "To  begin  with, 
I  think  for  the  garden  party  you  should  get  a  new 
hat  and  I  find  he  has  no  objection.  Did  you 
know  that  he  could  jump  a  high  fence?  He  is 
quite  well,  but  eats  things  in  the  kitchen  garden 
and  your  father  does  not  like  it.  Mr.  Blois  found 
him  on  the  croquet  lawn  yesterday  and  fell  over 
a  hoop  but  did  not  catch  him.  He  will  arrive 
early  on  Tuesday  and  so  will  George  and  Martha, 
but  we  must  come  by  a  later  train,  because  there 
is  a  meeting  about  gas,  and  your  father  says  it  is 


THE  KINSMAN  317 

wicked  to  put  gas  before  trains.  He  is  very  angry 
with  you,  and  I  am  writing  to  your  aunt  to  ask 
if  we  may  bring  Mr.  Blois  on  Tuesday.  At  least 
he  will  travel  earlier,  as  I  have  said  already.  Of 
course  he  is  on  your  father's  hands  all  day,  and  he 
naturally  finds  it  trying.  Unfortunately,  I'm  no 
companion  for  a  young  man.  I  did  ask  him  to 
hold  some  wool  for  me  yesterday,  but  he  said  his 
mother  always  used  two  chairs.  He  might  have 
guessed  that  I  only  wanted  to  relieve  your  father, 
but  he  has  not  very  fine  perceptions,  although  I 
still  think  it  is  a  child's  duty  to  consult  her  father's 
wishes,  especially  when  she  is  a  girl.  I  hope  it  will 
all  be  settled  while  we  are  at  Wimbledon  and  that 
you  will  come  back  with  us.  I  can't  get  on  with 
that  scarlet  shawl  till  you  pick  up  the  stitches." 

"  Someone  will  arrive  early  on  Tuesday,"  said 
Pamela,  as  she  finished  her  stepmother's  letter, 
"but  is  it  Mr.  Blois  or  is  it  the  kangaroo?" 

Mrs.  Loraine  had  laughed  a  little  as  she  listened, 
but  she  looked  gravely  at  her  own  letter,  which 
was  from  Colonel  Blois. 

"Your  father  writes  clearly  enough,"  she  said  to 
Pamela.  "He  expects  you  to  obey  his  wishes." 

"I  will  when  his  wishes  are  reasonable,"  said 
the  girl. 


318  THE  KINSMAN 

"What  is  it  all  about?"  said  Colonel  Loraine, 
waking  up  from  his  evening  paper. 

"Dad  wants  me  to  marry  a  skunk,"  said  Pamela, 
putting  her  case  in  a  nutshell. 

"Why?" 

"Because  he  is  the  heir  of  Greymarsh." 

"H'm!  What  exactly  do  you  mean  by  a 
skunk,  my  dear?" 

"You'll  know  on  Tuesday,"  said  Pamela.  "He 
arrives  by  an  early  train." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  greenhouses  at  Caesar's  Lodge  were  some 
way  from  the  house,  and  Colonel  Loraine  took  most 
of  the  mild  exercise  allowed  him  in  walking  back- 
wards and  forwards  between  his  books  and  his 
plants.  On  Monday  morning,  the  day  before 
Pamela's  parents  were  expected  at  Wimbledon, 
Roger  had  gone  to  the  house  to  see  if  the  motor 
would  be  required  that  day,  and  had  been  told  that 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Loraine  were  both  "  somewhere 
in  the  garden."  A  little  search  showed  him  Mrs. 
Loraine  and  Pamela  engaged  with  two  kittens 
and  a  ball  on  the  lawn.  They  made  such  an  al- 
luring picture  that  he  paused  to  look  at  it.  The 
girl  darted  here  and  there  as  swiftly  as  the  kittens, 
and  her  laugh  was  as  merry  as  their  movements. 
Directly  she  saw  Roger,  however,  she  stopped,  and 
while  he  spoke  to  Mrs.  Loraine  she  walked  a  little 
away,  but  not  quite  out  of  hearing.  She  was 
startled  every  time  she  met  Roger,  first  by  his 
troubling  resemblance  to  the  Australian,  and  a 
moment  later  by  the  points  of  unlikeness.  The 

319 


320  THE   KINSMAN 

very  way  he  stood  marked  the  difference ;  so  did 
the  set  of  his  shoulders  and  his  glance.  The 
other  had  no  glance,  she  said  to  herself,  nothing 
but  a  fatuous  stare. 

"Pamela!"  said  her  aunt  in  some  surprise,  and 
the  girl  became  conscious  that  she  was  expected 
to  answer  a  question  she  had  not  heard.  She 
coloured  and  apologised  and  thought  she  would 
like  to  go  out  to-day  if  her  aunt  went  too. 

"I  can  go  this  afternoon,"  said  Mrs.  Loraine, 
and  the  motor  was  ordered  for  three. 

Roger  walked  slowly  towards  the  motor  house, 
where  he  had  a  little  work  to  do.  It  was  the 
cleaning  that  he  found  strange  and  irksome, 
because,  of  course,  he  had  never  had  that  on  his 
hands  before.  Luckily,  he  had  watched  it  being 
done  when  he  first  possessed  a  motor  of  his  own 
and  could  not  keep  away  from  it.  He  had  fin- 
ished for  the  morning  and  shut  the  door  behind 
him,  when  he  heard  unusual  sounds  proceeding 
from  the  nearest  greenhouse,  where  he  supposed 
Colonel  Loraine  to  be  alone.  His  first  idea  was 
that  one  or  both  of  the  gardeners  must  be  "ill" 
and  molesting  their  master,  but  then  he  remem- 
bered that  the  head  man  had  gone  to  London  that 
day  and  that  the  underling  had  just  passed  him 


THE   KINSMAN  321 

on  his  way  to  the  front.  So  he  hurried  on,  and 
directly  he  opened  the  greenhouse  door  he  knew 
that  he  had  done  well  to  come.  Colonel  Loraine 
faced  him,  and  the  poor  gentleman  was  in  a  state 
of  trembling  distress  and  agitation,  blue  about  the 
lips,  and  leaning  against  the  greenhouse  stage  for 
support.  Opposite  him  stood  a  thick-set,  poorly 
clothed  man,  whose  face  Roger  could  not  see. 
But  when  the  door  opened  the  stranger  turned 
with  a  scowl,  and  Roger  recognised  Dobbs,  the 
drunken  chauffeur. 

"We  don't  want  you,"  the  man  said  trucu- 
lently. He  was  not  as  drunk  as  he  had  been  on 
the  moor,  but  he  was  not  sober.  Roger  pushed 
past  him  unceremoniously  and  stood  by  Colonel 
Loraine. 

"Let  me  help  you  back  to  the  house,"  he  said. 

Colonel  Loraine  shook  his  head  and  tried  to  get 
something  out  of  an  inside  pocket  in  his  coat. 
Roger  went  to  his  assistance  and  found  a  small 
bottle  of  medicine  and  a  flat  glass  in  a  leather 
case.  He  guessed  that  the  bottle  held  an  emer- 
gency draught  and  he  uncorked  it  quickly.  When 
Colonel  Loraine  had  swallowed  it  he  tried  to 
speak,  but  Roger  could  only  hear  something 
about  a  month's  wages. 


322  THE   KINSMAN 

"Damn  a  month's  wages!"  said  Dobbs.  "You 
show  me  the  sneak  what's  got  my  berth,  that's 
all  I  ask.  I'm  an  honest  workingman  and  I'll 
settle  Jim  —  s'welp  me  I  will  —  and  what's 
more,  I'm  comin'  back  7ere  —  as  your 
shover." 

Roger  now  stood  with  his  back  to  the  wall  so 
that  he  could  see  both  Colonel  Loraine  and  Dobbs. 
The  man  shook  his  fist  at  his  old  employer  and 
even  lurched  towards  him,  but  whenever  he  ad- 
vanced Roger  put  out  his  arm  and  one  foot  to 
ward  him  off.  He  saw,  however,  that  the  brutal 
ill  will  of  the  man's  behaviour  was  as  injurious  to 
Colonel  Loraine  as  a  personal  assault  would  have 
been  to  a  man  in  better  health ;  and  the  spectacle 
of  the  frail,  kindly  gentleman  besieged  and  in- 
sulted by  the  ruffian  he  had  tried  to  befriend 
stirred  Roger  to  a  heat  of  anger  that  soon  ended 
the  argument. 

"You  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  him?"  he 
asked  Colonel  Loraine. 

"Not  just  now  —  he  might  call  again  —  when 
he  is  sober." 

The  Colonel  stopped  speaking,  because  his 
breath  came  in  painful  gasps.  Dobbs,  hearing 
his  sobriety  impugned,  made  a  wild  rush  forward. 


THE   KINSMAN  323 

Roger  got  hold  of  him  by  the  collar  and  with  some 
difficulty  pushed  him  out  of  the  greenhouse.  He 
was  not  as  thick-set  as  Dobbs,  but  he  was  taller 
and  more  muscular,  and  he  urged  him  success- 
fully along  the  garden  path  that  led  to  the  back 
gate.  Roger's  progress,  however,  was  slow,  and 
to  the  eye  undignified,  especially  when  Dobbs, 
cursing  volubly,  wrenched  his  collar  suddenly 
from  his  captor's  hands  and  lay  down  flat  on  the 
gravel.  After  a  prolonged  tussle  Roger  got  him 
to  his  feet  again,  but  as  they  rose  together,  locked 
in  each  other's  arms,  hot,  angry,  and  dusty,  he 
was  not  pleased  to  see  Mrs.  Loraine  and  Pamela 
looking  on  in  amazement. 

" What's  the  matter?"  cried  Mrs.  Loraine. 
"Why,  it's  Dobbs!" 

Then  both  ladies  fled,  because  Dobbs  began  to 
talk  again.  They  heard  Roger  shout  something 
after  them,  but  they  did  not  understand  what  he 
said,  and  they  sat  down  together  on  the  lawn. 

"He  must  be  very  strong  to  manage  Dobbs," 
said  Mrs.  Loraine. 

Pamela  listened,  waited,  watched.  Presently 
she  sprang  to  her  feet.  Through  the  shrubs 
beyond  the  lawn  she  had  caught  sight  of  Roger 
carrying  the  inert  figure  of  her  uncle.  As  she 


324  THE  KINSMAN 

fled  towards  them  she  remembered  Roger's  cry  of 
warning  and  reproached  herself. 

"He  has  fainted,"  said  Roger,  and  by  that  time 
Mrs.  Loraine  had  followed  her  niece  and  saw  her 
husband  in  Roger's  arms. 

A  little  later  Pamela  came  out  into  the  garden 
again.  She  sat  in  a  shady  corner  and  watched 
the  kittens,  but  her  mind  was  full  of  Roger  and  of 
her  uncle.  She  did  not  know  yet  what  had  hap- 
pened, but  her  thoughts  went  back  to  the  story 
her  aunt  had  told  her  of  their  meeting  with  the 
new  chauffeur  on  Trevalla  moor.  Presently,  when 
she  saw  Roger  walking  slowly  towards  the  motor 
house,  she  intercepted  him. 

"Will  Dobbs  come  back?"  she  said. 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Roger. 

"What  happened  in  the  greenhouse?" 

"Nothing  much." 

"Then  why  did  you  throw  him  out  of  the 
garden?" 

"Because  he  wouldn't  go  any  other  way,"  said 
Roger,  composedly. 

By  lunch  time  the  doctor  had  come  and  gone. 
He  did  not  take  a  serious  view  of  Colonel  Loraine's 
condition,  but  said  that  he  would  want  careful 
nursing  and  attention  for  twenty-four  hours. 


THE  KINSMAN  325 

Pamela  suggested  that  her  parents  and  Mr.  Blois 
should  be  put  off  and  that  she  should  give  up 
the  garden  party  to-morrow.  But  Mrs.  Loraine 
considered  these  proposals  and  rejected 
them. 

"If  your  uncle  is  worse  to-morrow,  we  can  tele- 
graph early/'  she  said.  "I  expect  him  to  be 
much  better  and  able  to  see  your  father.  I  can't 
go  with  you  to  the  garden  party,  but  you  will  find 
the  Bradwardines  there." 

"I  should  like  to  call  for  them,"  said  Pamela, 
after  a  moment's  reflection.  "I  don't  want  to 
make  my  appearance  with  Mr.  Blois." 

"Do  you  care  to  have  the  motor  this  afternoon  ?" 
said  Mrs.  Loraine,  preparing  to  go  back  to  her 
husband. 

"Shall  we  give  it  a  rest?"  said  Pamela. 

"Just  as  you  like,"  replied  Mrs.  Loraine,  and 
left  it  so.  She  was  too  much  distracted  by 
anxiety  for  her  husband  to  dwell  on  a  doubt  that 
just  crossed  her  mind :  a  doubt  as  to  the  propriety 
of  leaving  Pamela  to  the  companionship  of  the 
handsome,  unexplained  chauffeur.  The  doubt  re- 
curred, however,  at  two  o'clock,  when  she  heard 
the  motor  vibrating  beneath  her  bedroom  win- 
dows. Pamela  had  apparently  changed  her  mind., 


326  THE  KINSMAN 

and  her  aunt  decided,  as  she  watched  her  niece 
start,  that  a  carriage  should  take  her  to  the  gar- 
den party  to-morrow. 

"Is  it  to  be  London  or  the  country?"  said 
Roger. 

"  London  first,  and  then  the  country.  We  have 
five  hours." 

Roger  looked  politely  dejected. 

" Hardly  three  hours,"  he  said. 

"Why?" 

"I  want  to  be  about  here  again  when  the  gar- 
deners leave  off  work  —  in  case  Dobbs — " 

"I'll  tell  them  to  stay  on  duty  till  you  come 
back." 

"I'm  afraid  they  are  not  to  be  trusted,"  said 
Roger;  "I  want  to  be  back  myself." 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,"  said  Pamela,  with 
a  chilling  air  of  approval;  but  she  could  not 
discover  that  her  companion  felt  chilled.  His 
profile  suggested  amusement.  She  was  vexed 
with  herself  for  having  made  an  advance  that  he 
refused,  and  she  knew  that  it  would  be  most  un- 
reasonable to  feel  vexed  with  him.  Yet  she  felt 
out  of  humour,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  must 
know  it,  and  he  took  no  pains  to  console  her.  By 
the  time  they  reached  the  top  of  Putney  Hill  she 


THE  KINSMAN  327 

had  decided  that  her  first  impression  was  the  true 
one,  and  that  he  was  odious. 

"You  can  go  quicker  now,"  she  said,  in  a  tone 
of  amiable  command  she  might  have  used  to  a 
groom  in  a  dog-cart.  "I'm  not  afraid." 

Roger's  immediate  and  involuntary  reply  was 
to  come  to  a  dead  stop.  A  child  on  a  fidgety  pony 
was  trying  to  pass  them,  and  he  saw  that  the  child 
was  afraid  and  incompetent.  He  got  down,  caught 
the  pony's  reins,  and  led  it  safely  into  a  side  street. 

"That  pony  will  break  that  child's  neck,"  he 
said  to  Pamela  as  he  clambered  into  his  seat. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  horses?"  she 
asked  airily. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"Can  you  ride?" 

"Yes." 

"Drive?" 

"Yes." 

She  suspected  that  his  sedateness  and  his 
monosyllables  were  ironical,  and  she  resented  it. 

"What  were  you  in  Australia?"  she  asked 
bluntly.  If  it  was  rude,  she  would  be  rude,  for 
he  gave  himself  airs.  They  had  arrived  now  at 
the  Upper  Richmond  Road,  and  Roger  was  steer- 
ing carefully  through  the  cross  currents  of  traffic 


328  THE  KINSMAN 

there.  When  they  began  to  descend  Putney 
High  Street  their  way  was  clear  for  a  time,  but  as 
they  were  about  to  cross  the  bridge  they  met  a 
string  of  carriages,  cabs,  and  motors  coming  to  a 
polo  match  at  Ranelagh.  They  were  held  up, 
and  at  Pamela's  request  Roger  asked  a  police- 
man what  was  going  on. 

"I've  never  seen  polo,  have  you?"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Roger,  absently,  "I  play." 

"Of  course,"  said  Pamela,  "I  can  see  that  you 
are  not  a  real  chauffeur." 

"Do  I  drive  so  badly?" 

"I  dare  say.  I  was  never  in  a  motor  till  last 
Friday,  so  I'm  no  judge;  but  a  real  chauffeur 
would  be  more  civil." 

"This  is  serious,"  said  Roger. 

"You  don't  even  answer  my  questions.  I 
asked  you  what  you  were  in  Australia." 

"I'm  very  sorry.  I  had  forgotten  you  asked, 
and  it  isn't  easy  to  answer.  When  I  left  Harvard 
I  went  home  for  a  bit.  Then  I  went  to  South 
Africa.  Soon  after  I  got  back  my  father  died, 
and  I've  been  busy  ever  since  winding  up  his 
affairs." 

"I  suppose  you  went  to  South  Africa  to  amuse 
yourself?" 


THE  KINSMAN  329 

"Yes." 

"You  saw  no  fighting,  then?" 

"I  saw  a  good  deal." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  were  in  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Roger. 

The  car  went  forward  now  with  other  traffic,  and 
Pamela  did  not  speak  again  till  they  found  them- 
selves in  another  block  at  the  end  of  the  Fulham 
Road. 

"Are  you  going  to  be  a  chauffeur  all  your  life?" 
she  asked. 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Roger. 

"What  will  you  take  to  instead?" 

"What  would  you  advise?" 

"Oh  !  if  you  are  going  to  laugh  at  me  —  " 

"When  you  are  trying  to  be  kind  —  " 

In  crowded  places  conversation  with  the  man  at 
the  wheel  is  necessarily  broken,  and  the  exigencies 
of  Sloane  Street  and  Knightsbridge  were  excuse 
enough  for  the  silence  that  ensued.  Pamela  got 
out  at  Woollands  without  speaking  again. 

"Where  to  now?"  said  Roger,  when  she  came 
back.  He  knew  he  had  angered  the  girl,  and  he 
wanted  to  make  his  peace.  But  the  piquant  con- 
trast of  her  dovelike  beauty  and  quick  flame  of 
her  temper  tempted  him  to  tease  her,  coax  her, 


330  THE   KINSMAN 

and,  in  fact,  make  love  to  her  whenever  they  met. 
He  had  no  scruple  about  it,  since  he  knew  from 
her  own  ingenuous  confession  that  her  father 
actually  desired  the  match. 

"I  want  to  go  to  a  hat  shop  in  Sloane  Street," 
said  Pamela.  "I  may  be  there  some  time.  I 
can't  buy  an  ugly  hat  because  you  happen  to  be 
in  a  hurry.  I  think,  perhaps,  you  had  better  go 
home  and  I  will  come  later  by  train." 

Roger  made  no  reply  to  this  proposal,  and  when 
she  came  out  of  the  shop,  followed  by  an  assistant 
with  a  large  parcel,  he  was  waiting  for  her.  She 
had  not  been  twenty  minutes. 

"I  am  going  to  ask  my  aunt  to  let  me  have  a 
carriage  to  the  garden  party  to-morrow,"  she  said ; 
"we  shall  be  four." 

"But  your  uncle  and  aunt  — 

"I  am  not  thinking  of  them  —  Mr.  Blois  is  com- 
ing by  an  early  train.  He  will  be  with  me.  And 
I  am  going  to  call  for  Mrs.  Bradwardine  and 
Kitty.  They  are  staying  at  the  Court  Hotel." 

"Will  they  come  out  to  Wimbledon?"  asked 
Roger. 

"I  should  think  not  —  they  are  only  up  for  a 
few  days  —  and  very  busy  —  do  you  want  to  see 
them?" 


THE   KINSMAN  331 

"I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Bradwardine,"  said  Roger; 
"but  I  shall  manage  that." 

"How?" 

"I  am  not  quite  sure  yet.  I  may  be  at  the  gar- 
den party." 

Pamela  was  nearly  but  not  quite  startled  into 
asking  him  how  he  would  get  there.  Her  silence 
was  sufficiently  expressive  of  surprise,  but  it  did 
not  require  an  answer,  and  as  they  sped  back 
to  Wimbledon  Roger  began  to  talk  about  dogs 
again,  a  subject  she  always  rose  to  readily. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

MRS.  LORAINE  had  neither  eyes  nor  ears  for 
anyone  but  her  husband  while  he  lay  ill.  She 
came  down  for  a  few  minutes  at  a  time  to  eat 
and  drink  in  a  hurry  and  to  arrange  for  Pamela's 
amusement.  At  breakfast  on  Tuesday  she  told 
her  niece  that  a  carriage  would  come  at  three  to 
take  her  to  the  garden  party,  and  that  Mrs.  Blois 
had  written  from  Greymarsh  to  request  that  the 
motor  should  not  meet  them,  as  nothing,  not  even 
the  commands  of  the  colonel,  would  induce  her  to 
enter  it.  Pamela  laughed. 

"I  wonder  if  a  motor-car  would  make  mother 
stand  up  for  herself,  "  she  said.  "What  fun  it 
would  be!" 

"What  are  you  going  to  say  to  your  father?" 
asked  Mrs.  Loraine. 

"That  depends  entirely  on  what  he  says  to  me. 
You  have  to  remember,  Aunt  Irene,  that  he  boxed 
my  ears." 

"My  dear  child  !    This  is  the  first  I  heard  of  it." 


THE  KINSMAN  333 

"You  would  never  have  heard  of  it  from  me 
if  mother  had  not  been  coming.  I  consider  it  a 
disgraceful  episode  that  for  poor  Dad's  sake  should 
be  buried.  But  mother  will  probably  tell  you  all 
about  it  on  the  door-step." 

"You  must  have  been  very  exasperating,"  said 
Mrs.  Loraine. 

"When  you  see  Mr.  Blois,  you'll  take  my  part." 

Mrs.  Loraine  went  back  to  her  husband  without 
prolonging  the  discussion;  and  Pamela,  looking 
out  of  the  window,  reflected  that  the  long,  empty 
hours  of  a  brilliant  summer  morning  lay  before  her. 
In  the  garden  she  met  Roger,  who  asked  her  if  she 
felt  inclined  for  a  spin. 

"I  am  at  your  service,"  he  said.  "Mrs.  Loraine 
has  sent  word  that  I  can  have  the  day  off  if  I 
wish." 

"Have  you  nothing  of  your  own  to  do  then?" 

"Not  till  this  afternoon.  I  am  at  your  service 
now." 

"Let  us  start  directly,"  cried  Pamela,  "and  get 
as  far  as  we  can." 

They  got  to  the  woods  at  Oxshott  and  halted 
there  in  the  shade.  Pamela  did  not  ask  herself 
where  these  days  were  taking  her.  She  drifted 
swiftly  and  gladly  into  love's  paradise  and  was 


334  THE  KINSMAN 

happy  there,  —  so  happy  that  she  forgot  the  world 
outside.  If  she  had  faced  the  future,  it  must  have 
threatened  separation;  but  at  this  stage  realities 
were  as  far  off  as  the  skies  and  seen,  like  the  skies, 
through  an  enchanted  haze.  The  present  hour 
gave  her  increasing  and  sustaining  belief  in  Roger 
and  in  his  devotion  to  herself,  for  he  did  not 
hide  his  hand.  He  restrained  it,  inasmuch  as  he 
did  not  declare  himself  this  morning  in  plain  Eng- 
lish ;  but  every  son  of  Adam  has  more  languages 
than  one  at  his  command.  To-day,  for  certain, 
Pamela  knew  herself  beloved;  and  it  was  with  a 
tumult  in  her  heart  rendering  joy  and  pain  indis- 
tinguishable that  she  made  the  great  discovery. 
What  answer  it  roused  she  hardly  understood 
yet.  Only  yesterday  she  had  mistaken  love  for 
hate,  it  seemed;  and  even  yet  she  could  have 
wished  herself  free  of  an  enchantment  touched 
with  pain.  The  glamour  and  surprise  of  it  were 
absorbing.  Roger's  voice  cast  a  spell,  his  touch 
set  her  cheeks  aflame.  She  was  troubled  by  the 
commotion  of  spirit  his  presence  caused.  The 
quiet  forest  broke  down  barriers;  as  they  sped 
home  they  hardly  spoke  to  each  other,  and  yet 
there  was  exquisite  understanding  between  them. 
When  they  did  speak  their  voices  betrayed  them, 


THE   KINSMAN  335 

and     so     did    their    eyes    when    they    looked 
at     each     other.      Pamela    dreaded    the     after- 


noon. 

u 


I  wish  you  were  coming  to  the  garden  party," 
she  said. 

"I  suppose  you  will  have  someone  very  like  me 
with  you?" 

"Not  in  the  least  like,"  cried  the  girl. 

"What  time  do  you  start?" 

"At  three." 

When  they  got  back  to  Wimbledon  they  found 
that  George  and  Martha,  the  two  servants  from 
Greymarsh,  had  arrived,  but  not  the  Australian. 
After  waiting  some  time  Mrs.  Loraine  and  Pamela 
had  lunch  served,  and  when  they  got  up  he  had 
still  not  come.  The  servants  said  he  had  left 
them  at  King's  Cross,  as  he  wanted  to  do  some 
shopping. 

"He  is  having  his  hair  curled,"  said  Pamela,  and 
persuaded  her  aunt  not  to  wait  for  him.  She  went 
into  the  garden  directly  Mrs.  Loraine  went  up- 
stairs, but  she  did  not  find  Roger  there.  It  was 
nearly  half-past  two  when  she  heard  wheels  at  the 
front  door  and  found  that  Mr.  Gammage  had 
arrived  and  was  disputing  the  fare  with  the  cab- 
man. He  wore  a  horsey-looking  checked  suit  that 


336  THE   KINSMAN 

he  had  chosen  himself,  a  brown  bowler  hat,  and 
red  dogskin  gloves. 

"I  hope  I  see  you  well/'  he  said  affably  to 
Pamela.  "Can  you  tell  me  what  the  fare  is  from 
Wimbledon  ?  I'm  sure  half  a  crown  is  a  swindle." 

"You're  very  late,"  said  Pamela,  when  she  had 
assured  him  she  knew  nothing  of  fares  and 
watched  him  part  protestingly  with  half  a  crown. 
"My  aunt  expected  you  to  lunch.  Are  you  going 
to  the  Skeffington-Blewitts'?" 

"Rather,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "I've  come  all 
the  way  from  Greymarsh  for  nothing  else  but  to 
go  there  and  to  see  you,  if  I  may  put  it  in  that 
way.  I  hope  lunch  isn't  off,  though.  Sorry  I'm 
late." 

The  uneasy  familiarity  of  his  manner  struck 
Pamela  even  more  disagreeably  than  it  had  ever 
done  before  and  so  did  the  pervasive,  intangible 
commonness  of  his  appearance.  She  led  the  way 
into  the  dining  room  and  glanced  at  the  table. 

"There's  everything  you  want,  I  think,"  she 
said.  "Will  you  help  yourself?  I'm  going  to 
dress." 

"I'm  more  thirsty  than  'ungry,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage.  "Soder  and  whiskey  will  go  to  the  right 
place,  I  can  tell  you.  Now  we  won't  be  long." 


THE   KINSMAN  337 

He  took  out  a  pink  silk  handkerchief,  panted, 
mopped  his  face,  and  sat  down  at  the  well-spread 
table.  There  were  inviting  dishes  on  it,  he  saw  at 
a  glance,  —  cold  pressed  beef,  lobster  salad,  straw- 
berries in  jelly,  fresh  small  rolls.  He  began  to 
think  that  perhaps  he  was  hungry  as  well  as 
thirsty,  in  spite  of  the  hot  weather.  He  hardly 
noticed  that  Pamela  had  slipped  out  of  the  room. 

As  she  crossed  the  hall  she  was  surprised  to  see 
Roger  come  in  at  the  front  door. 

"I  heard  someone  arrive,"  he  said.  "Who  was 
it?" 

"Mr.  Blois." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"In  the  dining  room  at  lunch.  Do  you  want 
to  see  him?" 

' '  Presently.     I'll  wait  here." 

Pamela,  who  hardly  had  time  to  dress,  ran  up- 
stairs. Roger  heard  her  reach  her  room  and  shut 
the  door.  Then  he  went  upstairs  too.  It  was  not 
a  large  house,  and  since  Colonel  Loraine  had  been 
ill  he  had  learned  to  know  the  lie  of  the  first  floor, 
where  there  were  two  large  bedrooms,  with  dress- 
ing-rooms attached,  and  two  smaller  rooms.  One 
of  the  small  rooms  had  a  window  overlooking  the 
back  garden,  and  he  had  seen  Pamela  at  it  yester- 


338  THE   KINSMAN 

day,  so  he  opened  the  door  of  the  other.  A  hasty 
glance  showed  him  his  own  trunk,  his  own  dressing- 
case,  and  his  brushes  laid  ready  for  use.  He  went 
in  and  turned  the  key.  For  a  moment  he  stood 
still  and  looked  at  the  things  that  were  his.  It 
would  have  been  more  satisfactory  to  have  led 
Mr.  Gammage  here  by  the  scuff  of  the  neck  and 
forced  him  to  disgorge;  but  that  would  have 
made  a  hullabaloo  in  the  house,  forced  an  im- 
mediate explanation,  and  occupied  valuable  time. 
Roger  knew  of  a  better  way  to  spend  the  after- 
noon. He  dressed  quickly  in  the  clothes  put 
ready  by  George.  He  took  possession  of  his 
keys,  locked  everything  lying  about  into  his 
trunk,  and  went  quietly  downstairs.  If  Mr. 
Gammage  appeared,  he  was  ready  for  him;  but 
if  Pamela  arrived  first,  he  meant  to  go  to  the 
garden  party  with  her  and  meet  Mrs.  Bradwar- 
dine. 

The  corner  of  the  hall  where  he  waited  was  in 
deep  shadow  and  near  the  dining-room  door.  He 
went  forward  a  little  when  he  heard  her  step  on 
the  stairs;  but  with  a  glance  that  seemed  to  see 
only  the  tails  of  his  coat  she  passed  him  haughtily 
and  looked  round  for  someone  who  was  not  there. 
Roger  saw  her  face  fall  with  disappointment. 


THE  KINSMAN  339 

"How  quick  you've  been!"  she  said,  as  if  his 
alacrity  annoyed  her ;  and  she  walked  towards  the 
front  door,  where  an  open  carriage  waited.  The 
parlour-maid  who  had  been  there  had  just  gone  to 
answer  an  upstairs  bell,  so  Roger  helped  Pamela  in 
and  was  amused  and  relieved  by  the  irreconcilable 
dislike  expressed  in  her  refusal  to  look  at  him.  It 
suited  his  purpose  exactly.  She  told  the  coach- 
man where  to  go,  and  then  she  opened  a  large 
parasol  and  hid  her  face  from  her  neighbour  with 
it.  As  they  moved  off  Roger,  looking  back  into 
the  hall,  thought  he  saw  the  dining-room  door 
open,  but  he  had  no  time  to  see  more.  The  car- 
riage bowled  along  the  drive  and  turned  west- 
wards across  the  Common.  Pamela  did  not  open 
her  mouth  or  once  lift  her  parasol.  She  won- 
dered at  the  Australian's  silence,  but  she  made 
no  attempt  to  break  it ;  while  Roger  compared 
the  morning  with  the  afternoon  and  wondered 
what  his  kinsman  had  done  that  he  should  be 
treated  so  cavalierly.  At  last,  when  the  carriage 
stopped  at  the  Court  Hotel,  Pamela  spoke  over  her 
shoulder. 

"I  am  going  in  for  a  moment,"  she  said;  "will 
you  wait  here?" 

As  the  girl  issued  her  instructions  in  a  voice  of 


340  THE  KINSMAN 

polite  command,  it  was  unnecessary  to  reply ;  but 
Roger  got  out  of  the  carriage  and  held  the  door 
open  for  her.  She  descended  with  a  flutter  of 
frills  and  feathers,  her  eyes  averted,  her  head  in 
the  air ;  but  as  she  entered  the  hall  Mrs.  Bradwar- 
dine  and  Kitty  met  her,  and  the  three  ladies  re- 
turned to  the  carriage.  Roger  lifted  his  hat  and 
offered  Mrs.  Bradwardine  his  hand,  but  the  lady 
who  had  once  been  his  cordial  friend  now  stiffened 
as  she  glanced  away  from  him.  Roger  looked  at 
the  girl  beside  her  and  hardly  knew  what  to  do. 
Mr.  Gammage  had  doubtless  met  her ;  he  himself 
had  not.  In  his  perplexity  he  smiled,  and  the  girl, 
looking  up,  smiled  too,  and  wondered.  This  man 
had  the  air  of  distinction  she  had  looked  for  in 
Roger  Blois.  She  turned  to  him  as  he  took  his  seat 
beside  her  in  the  carriage. 

"I  met  the  Duchess  this  morning,"  she  said. 
"She  asked  after  you." 

"How  kind  of  her !  "  said  Roger. 

Mrs.  Bradwardine  and  Pamela,  who  had  been 
talking  to  each  other,  stopped  short.  They  both 
looked  at  Roger  and  made  no  attempt  to  hide 
their  bewilderment  and  surprise.  He  had  spoken 
in  his  natural  voice,  and  his  eyes  sought  Pamela's 
reassuringly.  He  saw  her  look  of  alarm.  He  saw 


THE  KINSMAN  341 

Mrs.  Bradwardine's  unfriendly  manner  undergo  a 
rapid  change. 

"You  —  you!"  she  said,  and  stared  as  if  she 
could  hardly  believe  her  eyes. 

"Yes,"  said  Roger,  "I've  come  back." 

"The  Duchess  will  be  at  the  garden  party,"  said 
Kitty,  and  she  stared  too. 

"You  must  point  her  out  to  me,"  said  Roger. 

"But  you  talked  to  her  ever  so  long  at  Grey- 
marsh." 

"I  have  never  been  at  Greymarsh,"  said  Roger. 

"Can't  you  see  that,  my  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Brad- 
wardine. 

"But  who  is  the  man  at  Greymarsh?"  cried 
Pamela. 

"An  impostor." 

"But  who  are  you?" 

"I  am  Roger  Blois." 

"Oh!" 

Pamela  shrank  back  into  her  corner  of  the 
carriage.  Her  thoughts  were  confused  and  whirl- 
ing, her  face  began  to  flame  uncomfortably.  She 
had  told  this  man  that  her  father  desired  their 
marriage,  then,  and  she  had  shown  him  this  morn- 
ing that  she  was  not  averse  to  him  herself. 

"Of  course,"  Mrs.  Bradwardine  was  saying,  "I 


342  THE  KINSMAN 

saw  from  the  first  that  there  was  something  wrong. 
An  impossible  creature.  I'm  surprised  to  hear 
there  is  any  Blois  blood  in  him.  I  should  ship 
him  across  the  seas  if  I  were  you.  But  I  don't 
understand  the  whole  story  yet.  How  do  you 
come  to  be  in  this  carriage  with  Pamela?" 

"It's  a  long  story,"  said  Roger. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  your  real  name  long 
ago?"  said  Pamela,  reproachfully.  "It  wasn't 
fair." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MRS.  BRADWARDINE  had  heard  Roger's  story, 
and  had  scolded  him  for  allowing  such  a  fraud  to 
go  on. 

"You  can't  do  much  when  you're  unconscious," 
he  said  meekly. 

"You  haven't  been  unconscious  three  weeks," 
said  the  Rector's  wife. 

"I've  been  penniless,  though;  and  till  last 
Friday  I  was  in  rags.  Miss  Blois  will  bear  wit- 
ness to  that." 

"What  do  rags  matter?"  said  Mrs.  Bradwar- 
dine.  "Why  didn't  you  write  or  telegraph  to 
me?" 

"I  can't  sign  my  name  yet,"  said  Roger. 
"They  laughed  at  me  at  the  bank  when  I  tried. 
I  couldn't  fill  a  telegraph  form  or  pay  for  it  as 
long  as  I  was  at  Trevalla.  I  really  was  in  a  hole, 
Mrs.  Bradwardine." 

"And  you  were  ill,"  said  Pamela,  taking  his 
part.  "People  can't  act  and  think  for  themselves 

343 


344  THE  KINSMAN 

much  when  they  are  ill.  But  how  did  you  get 
hold  of  your  own  things  to-day?" 

"It  was  very  simple/'  said  Roger,  "I  went 
upstairs  and  took  them." 

Then  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  garden  where 
the  Skeffington-Blewitts  were  giving  their  party, 
and  Sir  Charles  Burnham,  having  arrived  at  the 
same  moment,  joined  them.  He  spoke  to  the 
ladies  and  was  going  to  speak  to  Roger  when 
Mrs.  Bradwardine  said  to  him :  - 

"This  is  Mr.  Blois,  Charles.  The  man  at  Grey- 
marsh  was  not." 

"Hullo  !"  said  Sir  Charles,  and  then  he  had  to 
hear  the  whole  story. 

"What's  become  of  the  other  chap?"  he  asked, 
and  Mrs.  Bradwardine  said  that  owing  to  Roger's 
dilatory  ways  he  was  still  at  large. 

"You  will  never  be  forgiven  for  letting  Grey- 
marsh  have  three  weeks  of  Mr.  Gammage,"  said 
Pamela  to  Roger  as  they  joined  the  crowd  inside  the 
garden,  "but  it  was  I  who  had  the  worst  of  it." 

"Poor  devil,"  said  Roger,  unexpectedly. 
"When  I  think  of  the  time  I  had  in  the  carriage 
this  afternoon  and  of  that  parasol  - 

They  stood  together  on  the  fringe  of  the  crowd, 
watching  it  contentedly,  knowing  few  people  there. 


THE   KINSMAN  345 

Then  Roger  saw  some  seats  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
garden  and  suggested  that  they  should  stroll 
towards  them. 

"Very  well/'  said  Pamela;  "but  we  must 
come  back  later." 

"When  we  are  inclined.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you." 

He  pulled  a  chair  aslant  so  that  he  sat  with  his 
back  to  the  crowd  and  screened  Pamela  from  the 
observation  of  passers-by.  But  at  present  no  one 
came  very  close  to  this  corner  of  the  garden. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  Mr.  Gam- 
mage?"  said  Pamela. 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  said  Roger.  "If  he  shows 
fight  — " 

"He  won't  do  that,"  said  Pamela,  disdainfully. 
"There  is  no  pluck  in  him.  He  was  afraid  of  the 
kangaroo." 

"I  suppose  he  was  afraid  of  you  too  —  of  you 
and  your  parasol." 

Roger  took  the  parasol  from  Pamela's  hands, 
unfurled  it,  and  held  it  over  her. 

"It  is  all  very  well,"  cried  the  girl,  indignantly, 
"but  he  came  between  my  father  and  me.  We 
had  a  fearful  quarrel  on  his  account,  and  I  ran 
away  from  home." 


346  THE    KINSMAN 

" Bless  me!"  said  Roger.  "Is  that  what  you 
do  when  you  are  annoyed?" 

"Dad  and  I  both  have  the  Blois  temper,  espe- 
cially Dad." 

"I  suffer  from  it  myself,"  said  Roger. 

"It  makes  it  impossible  for  us  to  live  together." 

"Put  that  idea  out  of  your  head." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  want  you  to  live  with  me." 

Pamela  looked  up  and  looked  down  again. 

"My  father  vows  I'm  a  vixen,"  said  she. 

"I  believe  you  are,"  said  Roger. 

"Then  why  — " 

"A  question  of  taste.  Will  you  marry  me, 
Pamela?" 

"How  can  I?  You  are  the  heir  of  Grey- 
marsh.  I  told  you  my  father  desired  the 
match." 

"Are  you  going  to  refuse  me  in  order  to  provoke 
your  father?" 

"Of  course  not.     I  didn't  mean  that." 

"Give  me  my  answer  then  —  the  one  I  want." 

"Is  there  any  hurry?" 

"Oh!  none  at  all.  This  year,  next  year,  any 
time  you  please." 

His  ardent  glance,  his  irony,  confused  her. 


THE   KINSMAN  347 

"We  have  not  known  each  other  a  week/'  she 
urged. 

"If  you  don't  take  care  I'll  carry  you  off  in  the 
motor,"  he  said,  and  he  pushed  back  his  chair  a 
little. 

"Look  at  that  little  dark  man,"  cried  Pamela, 
glad  to  change  the  subject.  "He  is  staring  hard  at 
you.  Now  he  is  coming  our  way.  Do  you  know 
him?" 

"No,"  said  Roger,  "but  he  seems  to  think  he 
knows  me." 

That  was  evident,  for  the  little  man  now  stopped 
short  and  raised  his  hat. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "I  should  like 
a  few  words  with  you." 

"Certainly,"  said  Roger.     "Shall  we  — " 

"I  will  sit  down,"  said  the  little  man, 
taking  a  chair.  "This  young  lady  may  hear 
what  I  have  to  say.  I  certainly  did  not  expect 
to  meet  you  here.  I  have  had  no  news  since  I 
heard  first  that  you  were  drowned  and  then 
that  you  were  not.  So  it  was  you,  after  all,  in 
the  Blackfriars  Hotel,  and  you  heard  what  I  said 
to  Mr.  Eisenstein.  My  eyes  did  not  deceive  me." 

"I  have  never  been  in  the  Blackfriars  Hotel  in 
my  life,"  said  Roger. 


348  THE   KINSMAN 

"You  will  tell  me  next  that  you  don't  know  my 
name,"  said  the  little  man.  He  looked  at  Roger 
and  then  he  looked  at  Pamela,  who  wore  white 
India  muslin  and  an  enchanting  pale  green  hat 
that  had  blush  rosebuds  under  the  brim. 

"Have  you  come  into  a  fortune?"  he  said,  turn- 
ing abruptly  to  Roger  again.  "Who  brought  you 
to  this  party?  Who  is  this  young  lady?" 

"Who  are  you?"  said  Roger. 

"Come,  come.  You  know  very  well  who  I  am." 
He  bent  close  to  Roger's  ear  and  said  in  a  whisper, 
"What  about  that  hundred  pounds?" 

"What  hundred  pounds?"  said  Roger,  audibly. 

"The  proper  place  for  the  discussion  of  business 
is  the  office.  I  shall  expect  you  there  to-morrow." 

"But  I  don't  know  your  name  and  address, 
and  I'll  wager  a  hundred  pounds  you  don't 
know  mine,"  cried  Roger. 

"My  name  is  Angelo,  Mr.  Gammage,"  said  the 
little  man,  with  dignity. 

"My  name  is  Blois,  Mr.  Angelo,"  said  Roger. 

"An  alias,"  said  Mr.  Angelo,  waving  his  hand 
disdainfully.  "But  I  trust  my  own  eyes." 

"We  can  put  you  on  the  track  of  Mr.  Gammage 
if  you  want  him,"  said  Roger. 

"Do  you  know  him?"  said  Pamela,  eagerly. 


THE   KINSMAN  349 

"Then  look  at  this  gentleman  again  and  use  your 
eyes.  I  think  you  are  very  unobservant.  Mr. 
Gammage  has  a  dull  glance  and  coarse,  ill-kept 
hands.  He  speaks  like  a  cockney,  he  stands  like 
a  lout  —  look  again  —  and  listen  before  you  make 
so  sure." 

Mr.  Angelo  did  look  again,  and  his  shrewd  eyes 
took  stock  of  Roger  as  they  had  not  done 
before. 

"I  believe  the  young  lady  is  right,"  he  said  at 
last.  "But  at  first  you  look  the  same  —  oh, 
miraculously  the  same.  Then  it  was  Mr.  Gam- 
mage  who  sat  in  the  Blackfriars  Hotel  and  heard 
me  call  him  a  silly  ass  ?  " 

"Probably,"  said  Roger. 

"Where  is  he?  How  has  he  been  living  these 
three  weeks?  Has  he  come  into  money?" 

"I'm  afraid  he  hasn't  a  penny,"  said  Roger. 
"Was  he  in  your  employment?" 

"He  was,"  said  Mr.  Angelo.  "The  last  thing 
he  did  was  to  lose  me  a  hundred  pounds.  He's 
no  good." 

"Then  you  don't  want  him  back  again?  " 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  Angelo.  "But  he 
can  come  and  see  me  if  he  likes.  Eisenstein  wants 
a  man  with  a  good  appearance  and  manners  for  one 


350  THE  KINSMAN 

of  his  jobs,  and  Eisenstein  knows  how  to  make 
people  work.  He  is  not  as  patient  as  I  am." 

"I  may  see  Mr.  Gammage  to-night/'  said  Roger. 
"I  will  tell  him  what  you  say." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Angelo,  lifting  his  hat 
to  Pamela  as  he  went  away.  "If  it  was  Gam- 
mage  in  the  Blackfriars  Hotel  that  morning,  he 
knows  what  I  think  of  him." 

"You  are  not  going  to  send  him  to  prison, 
then  ? "  said  Pamela,  when  Mr.  Angelo  was  out 
of  hearing. 

"I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do  yet,"  said 
Roger.  "I  can't  tackle  Mr.  Gammage  till  I  get 
back  to  Wimbledon.  Shall  you  be  ready  to  start 
soon?  People  can't  come  and  sit  down  beside  us 
in  the  carriage.  Are  you  going  to  take  Mrs.  Brad- 
wardine  and  her  daughter  to  their  hotel?  That 
would  shorten  our  drive,  and  you  take  such  a  long 
time  to  make  up  your  mind  about  the  simplest 
matter  - 

"Where  have  you  been  all  the  afternoon?" 
said  Mrs.  Bradwardine,  when  they  rejoined  the 
crowd.  "The  Duchess  has  been  clamouring  for 
Mr.  Blois.  I  told  her  she  would  be  disappointed 
in  this  one,  and  she  seemed  to  agree  with  me  when 
she  heard  the  story.  She  wants  Mr.  Gammage 


THE  KINSMAN  351 

to  join  her  Camberwell  Club,  and  she  offers  to 
find  him  plenty  of  work  in  it  —  unpaid  work,  of 
course.  I'm  not  coming  back  with  you,  Pamela. 
Charles  wants  us  to  dine  with  him  and  go  to  the 
play.  So  Kitty  and  I  will  get  a  cab  and  go  off  at 
once.  I  call  this  a  mob,  not  a  party.  I  had  no 
idea  the  Skefnngton-Blewitts  knew  such  queer 
people.  Look  at  that  little  foreigner  —  like  one 
of  Du  Maurier's  nightmares.  My  dear  Pamela  — 
he  is  taking  off  his  hat  to  you.  I  hope  he  won't 
come  near  us." 

"We  have  been  talking  to  him,"  said  Pamela. 
"Mr.  Gammage  used  to  be  in  his  office.  He  is 
rather  nice." 

"Get  her  home  quickly,  Mr.  Blois,"  said  Mrs. 
Bradwardine,  and  Roger  took  immediate  steps  to 
follow  this  pleasing  advice.  He  meant  to  have 
his  answer  from  Pamela  before  they  reached 
Wimbledon,  and  he  reflected  that  the  big  parasol 
would  help  him  if  it  was  skilfully  used 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

MB.  GAMMAGE  did  not  hurry  over  his  lunch. 
Mrs.  Blois  had  vaguely  told  him  that  people  went 
to  garden  parties  about  four  or  five  o'clock,  and 
Pamela  had  said  nothing  about  starting  at  three. 
It  pleased  him  vastly  to  be  in  his  old  neighbour- 
hood under  such  improved  conditions.  The  outside 
of  this  house  had  often  been  the  terminus  of  a 
Sunday  walk,  but  he  had  never  expected  to  sit 
inside  it.  The  room  had  a  view  of  the  back  gar- 
den and  did  not  command  any  part  of  the  drive. 
Presently  he  heard  wheels  on  the  gravel,  but  he 
did  not  connect  them  with  his  own  engagement 
and  did  not  hurry.  He  took  for  granted  that 
Pamela  would  go  to  town  in  the  motor,  and  he 
looked  forward  to  a  way  of  locomotion  he  had 
always  condemned  when  others  used  it  and 
desired  for  himself.  He  knew  that  Colonel 
Loraine  was  lying  ill  upstairs,  and  he  supposed 
the  doctor  would  probably  come  about  this  time 
of  day,  and  come  in  a  carriage. 

352 


THE  KINSMAN  353 

When  he  had  smoked  a  cigarette  and  finished  a 
second  whiskey  and  soda  he  got  up  with  a  sleepy 
yawn,  wished  he  could  sit  in  this  garden  instead  of 
driving  ten  miles  to  another,  and  opened  the  door. 
The  sound  of  departing  wheels  reached  him,  and 
the  glimpse  of  a  furbelowed  white  parasol  and  of 
a  man's  silk  hat.  He  went  back  rather  hurriedly 
to  the  dining  room  and  rang  the  bell.  While  he 
waited  he  mixed  himself  a  third  whiskey  and  soda 
and  lighted  another  cigarette. 

The  parlour-maid  who  appeared  stared  as  if  she 
thought  his  summons  an  impertinence.  All  the 
younger  women  in  the  house  had  more  or  less  lost 
their  hearts  to  the  new  chauffeur,  but  they  did  not 
expect  to  find  him  smoking  and  drinking  in  the 
dining  room. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  said. 

" Enjoying  myself,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  with  a 
friendly  wink.  "  Just  show  me  my  room,  will  you, 
my  dear?" 

The  parlour-maid  looked  at  the  whiskey  and 
looked  at  Mr.  Gammage.  She  knew  all  about  her 
master's  theories  and  the  way  they  worked  out  in 
sudden  household  crises  of  an  awkward  kind.  She 
did  not  know  before  that  Brown  was  one  of  his 
experiments. 

2x 


354  THE   KINSMAN 

"You  find  your  own  room  and  go  to  sleep,"  she 
said.  " That's  what '11  do  you  good." 

"Just  what  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  enjoy- 
ing an  unchecked  yawn.  "Unluckily,  I've  other 
fish  to  fry.  Come,  where's  that  room,  my  girl? 
Don't  keep  me  waiting  longer  than  you  can  'elp. 
I've  an  appointment  with  the  Princess  of  Wales." 

The  parlour-maid  had  remained  close  to  the 
door,  and  now  at  the  sound  of  a  step  in  the  hall  she 
turned  her  head  and  beckoned  to  George,  the  ser- 
vant from  Greymarsh,  who  had  come  to  see  if  Mr. 
Gammage  had  finished  his  lunch.  He  stood  be- 
side the  girl  in  the  doorway  and  showed  no  sur- 
prise. 

"Do  you  know  where  my  room  is?"  said  Mr. 
Gammage  to  him. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said.    "Will  you  come  this  way?" 

The  parlour-maid  watched  them  depart  and  then 
began  to  clear  the  table  in  a  frame  of  mind  that 
led  to  the  destruction  of  a  water  jug  and  three 
wine  glasses.  She  explained  to  the  cook  when  she 
went  downstairs  that  she  had  been  all  of  a  tremble 
because  George  had  walked  off  with  Brown,  the 
chauffeur,  and  what  they  were  playing  at  together 
Heaven  only  knew,  but  she  was  always  expecting 
burglaries  in  this  house. 


THE  KINSMAN  355 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Gammage  and  George  went  un- 
suspiciously upstairs  to  the  room  in  which  Roger 
had  dressed.  Mr.  Gammage  entered  it  first  and 
saw  no  preparations  for  his  toilet  except  an  appar- 
ently unpacked  trunk.  He  turned  towards  George 
and  saw  the  young  man's  face  a  study  in  alarm  and 
blank  amazement. 

"They've  been  up  to  some  of  their  monkey 
tricks,"  he  muttered,  and  he  went  to  an  electric 
bell  and  rang  it  lengthily.  Then  he  rushed  about 
the  room,  opening  cupboards  and  drawers.  Mr. 
Gammage  sat  down  in  an  easy-chair. 

"You  may  as  well  take  off  my  boots,"  he  said. 
He  had  become  used  to  this  kind  of  service,  and 
liked  it. 

But  the  first  lace  was  hardly  untied  when  a 
housemaid  knocked  at  the  door  and  asked  what 
was  wanted.  George  went  hurriedly  outside  and 
explained  what  he  wanted  —  his  gentleman's 
clothes  and  dressing  things  that  had  been  put 
ready  more  than  an  hour  ago.  This  was  more  than 
a  joke,  he  protested.  The  girl,  of  course,  protested 
in  her  turn  and  even  offered  to  search  the  room 
for  him. 

"I've  done  that  for  myself,"  said  George,  indig- 
nantly. "You  go  downstairs  and  find  out  who's 


356  THE  KINSMAN 

at  the  bottom  of  it,  and  come  back  in  double-quick 
time,  if  you  please." 

" What's  the  matter?"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  as 
George  came  back  into  the  room. 

"I  can't  think,  sir,"  said  George.  "I  put  all 
your  things  ready  here  before  I  had  my  dinner, 
and  they're  gone." 

"Gone  !    Nonsense !    Where  are  my  keys?" 

"I  left  them  on  the  dressing-table,  sir.  They 
are  not  there." 

Mr.  Gammage  jumped  up,  his  sleepiness  gone. 

"I  must  have  my  keys,"  he  shouted;  "how  am 
I  to  dress  without  them?  Look  here,  you  oaf, 
someone's  dressed  here  already.  Look  at  the 
washstand  and  the  towels.  You've  come  to  the 
wrong  room.  That's  what's  the  matter.  My 
trunk !  Think  I  don't  know  my  own  trunk  ?  Go 
and  find  out  and  send  a  message  to  Miss  Pamela. 
I'm  keeping  her  waiting  ...  all  through  your 
stupidity." 

The  man  sulkily  left  the  room  and  returned  a 
moment  later  with  a  scared  face. 

"Miss  Blois  left  in  the  carriage  at  three  o'clock, 
sir,"  he  said.  "And  this  is  your  room  right 
enough." 

"Miss    Blois    left  .      .  without    me  .  .  .  rub- 


THE  KINSMAN  357 

bish  ...  I  heard  a  carriage  ...  it  was  the 
doctor  .  .  .  the  doctor's  been  washing  his  hands 
here,  of  course  .  .  .  you  go  and  find  Mrs.  Loraine 
...  I  want  a  word  with  her  ...  I  want  to 
know  where  my  keys  are,  and  if  the  doctor's 
wife  comes  with  him  on  his  rounds  ...  I  just 
saw  a  parasol  and  tall  hat  —  " 

"The  doctor  is  here  now,  sir,"  said  George, 
stolidly.  "He  has  just  arrived." 

"Then  who  has  been  in  this  room?  Who  is 
with  Miss  Blois?  Who  has  stolen  my  things?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  George;  "but  it's 
very  unpleasant." 

"Is  there  anyone  else  stopping  in  the  house?" 

"No  one  at  all,  sir." 

"You  tell  them  I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Loraine." 

The  man  went  away  again  and  soon  returned. 

"The  doctor  has  gone  and  the  parlour-maid  has 
orders  not  to  disturb  Mrs.  Loraine,"  he  said. 
"She  is  lying  down.  But,  of  course,  if  you  con- 
sider it  necessary  — " 

"Oh,  it  isn't  necessary,"  said  Mr.  Gammage, 
huffily.  "I've  had  my  keys  stolen,  and  all  my 
silver  brushes  and  bottles,  but  it's  of  no  conse- 
quence —  quite  a  matter  of  course  in  this  'ouse,  if  all 
I've  heard  is  true.  But  I'll  fetch  a  bobby,  I  think." 


358  THE   KINSMAN 

"What  you  want  is  a  locksmith,"  said  George, 
lifting  one  end  of  the  trunk  and  letting  it  fall 
again.  "I  believe  someone's  packed  all  your 
things  in  here.  It's  a  practical  joke,  and  I 
shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  one  of  them  hussies 
downstairs  —  there  was  nothing  they  wasn't  up 
to  last  time  I  was  here  —  apple-pie  beds  and 
ruffling  my  hair  when  the  Colonel's  bell  rang,  so  as 
I  shouldn't  answer  it  quick.  Shall  I  go  for  a 
locksmith,  sir?  I'll  tell  them  downstairs  I'm 
going,  and  when  I  get  back  I'll  lay  I'll  find  the 
keys  sticking  in  that  trunk." 

"Then  who  has  used  those  towels?"  said  Mr. 
Gammage. 

George  scratched  his  head.  He  did  not  want 
the  police  hurried  into  the  house,  making  every- 
thing unpleasant  below  stairs;  but  his  powers  of 
invention  were  not  inexhaustible.  Who  on  earth 
could  have  used  the  towels? 

"I'll  fetch  you  some  others  at  once,  sir,"  he  said 
obligingly.  "Are  you  going  to  the  garden 
party?" 

"How  can  I  go  like  this?"  said  Mr.  Gammage, 
putting  a  thumb  behind  each  lapel  of  his  coat 
and  showing  his  checks  to  George.  "I  don't  mind 
in  the  country,  of  course,  but  here  in  town  I  like 


THE   KINSMAN  359 

to  be  correct.  I'll  have  a  toddle  on  the  Common, 
and  you  fetch  that  locksmith  along.  " 

Mr.  Gammage  did  not  like  the  thing  that  had 
happened.  At  first  sight  it  suggested  a  burglary; 
but  burglars  do  not  pack  their  booty  in  a  trunk, 
lock  the  trunk,  and  leave  it  behind.  George's 
theory  would  not  hold  water  either.  It  was  im- 
possible to  believe  that  in  any  respectable  house 
the  maids  would  play  such  a  trick  on  their  mas- 
ter's guest  —  even  to  amuse  themselves  and  annoy 
a  dolt  like  George.  The  man  who  drove  off  with 
Pamela  need  not  be  connected  with  the  matter. 
Mr.  Gammage  assured  and  reassured  himself  of 
that  as  he  walked  across  the  Common.  That  man 
must  have  been  some  friend  of  the  Loraines,  some 
neighbour  going  to  the  garden  party.  It  was 
beastly  rude  of  Pamela  not  to  wait  or  send  any 
message;  but  Mr.  Gammage  supposed  she  had  a 
down  on  him  now  that  she  knew  her  father 
favoured  their  marriage.  So  far  the  courtship 
had  been  more  prickles  than  honey,  and  Mr.  Gam- 
mage sometimes  thought  wistfully  of  Florrie  and 
Julia. 

It  was  like  his  luck  to  feel  worried  in  this  way 
the  very  first  time  he  saw  the  good  old  Common 
again.  Every  landmark  pleased  him,  and  when 


360  THE  KINSMAN 

he  got  to  the  top  of  Putney  Hill  he  looked  at  its 
cheerful  pavements  with  real  delight.  How  un- 
like the  melancholy  solitude  of  the  marshes,  how 
lively  a  contrast  to  dusty,  empty  lanes !  For  a 
time  he  feasted  his  eyes  on  motors,  bicycles, 
tradesmen's  carts,  perambulators,  two  and  three 
abreast,  pedestrians,  dogs,  organ-grinders,  car- 
riages, the  usual  mixed  procession  of  fine  summer 
afternoons.  Then,  his  heart-strings  stirred,  per- 
haps, he  suddenly  resolved  to  run  a  risk  he  had 
steadily  refrained  from  hitherto.  He  hailed  a 
passing  hansom  and  told  the  man  to  drive  to  the 
Red  Lion  on  Barnes  Common.  The  Red  Lion  is 
close  to  the  Terrace  where  the  Martins  lived,  and 
Mr.  Gammage  meant  to  dismiss  his  hansom  there 
and  walk  past  the  house.  But  he  hardly  touched 
the  ground,  and  was  feeling  his  pocket  for  the 
driver's  fee,  when  a  girl,  glowing  with  surprise 
and  pleasure,  almost  ran  into  his  arms. 

"Bert!"  she  cried,  and  before  he  knew  what  he 
was  doing  Mr.  Gammage  had  looked  with  recogni- 
tion in  his  eyes  at  Julia.  He  just  had  presence  of 
mind  enough  left  to  tell  his  cab  to  wait,  and  to 
realise  that  the  shorter  he  made  the  interview  the 
better.  Of  course,  as  Roger  Blois  he  ought  not 
to  have  known  Julia,  but  as  Herbert  Gammage  he 


THE  KINSMAN  361 

knew  her  very  well,  and  would  be  hanged  if  she 
could  not  hold  her  own  with  any  fine  lady  when  it 
came  to  sparkling  eyes  and  a  colour  as  fresh  as 
paint. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  Barnes?"   he  asked. 

"I'm  staying  just  along  here  to  the  Martins'/' 
she  said.  "When  Florrie  got  engaged  to  Mr. 
Salter  she  wrote  more  friendly,  and  I  said  I'd 
be  glad  to  visit  them.  But  what's  come  to  'e, 
Bert?  You'm  so  fine  —  and  riding,  too.  You 
might  have  spared  a  penny  for  a  letter." 

"But  you  thought  I  was  drowned,"  he  said 
blankly.  "You  don't  expect  letters  from  dead 
people.  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  why  weren't 
you  more  astonished  to  see  me  alive?" 

"I  thought  e'd  get  here  somehow,"  said  Julia, 
blankly.  "Be  you  better ? ' ' 

"I'm  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "but  I'm 
in  a  hurry.  Business  is  business,  and,  as  you  see, 
I'm  getting  on.  I'll  come  and  see  you  one  of  these 
days,  though.  How  long  are  you  going  to  stay?" 

"But  we'm  engaged  to  be  married,  Bert. 
You've  never  gone  and  forgotten  that  again, 
have  'e?" 

"Rather  not,"  said  Bert,  one  foot  on  the  step 
of  his  hansom.  "I'll  write." 


362  THE  KINSMAN 

"And  you  remember  you're  Bert  all  right?" 
Mr.  Gammage  put  his  head  through  the  trap- 
door of  his  cab  and  told  the  man  to  drive  back 
to  Putney  Hill.  As  he  sat  down  the  sense  of 
Julia's  words  reached  his  brains,  and  he  nodded 
gaily  towards  her  dejected  face  as  he  drove 
away. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  shouted,  and  she 
shouted  something  after  him  that  he  only  half 
heard.  It  sounded,  he  thought,  as  if  the  name  of 
Roger  Blois  ended  it,  and  for  a  moment  he  felt 
inclined  to  stop  the  cab.  But  it  was  taking  him 
swiftly  and  comfortably  away  from  her,  and  the 
pleasant  sense  of  escape  from  danger  soon  sur- 
mounted a  nasty  qualm  of  fear.  For  Julia  was  a 
danger  he  recognised,  and  he  determined  that  he 
would  leave  Wimbledon  to-morrow  rather  than 
run  the  risk  of  meeting  her  again.  He  took  his 
cab  back  to  Wimbledon,  but  dismissed  it  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Caesar's  Lodge.  His 
caution  was  aroused,  and  he  did  not  wish  the 
man  to  see  where  he  was  staying,  because  Julia 
might  recognise  him  and  ask  questions.  As  he 
turned  in  at  the  gates  and  was  strolling  along  the 
drive  a  burly,  thick-set  man  he  did  not  know 
accosted  him. 


THE  KINSMAN  363 

"Can  you  come  to  the  motor  house  a  minute?" 
he  said. 

"What  for?"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"I've  something  to  show  you — something  you'll 
be  glad  to  see  again." 

Mr.  Gammage's  thoughts  naturally  flew  to  his 
lost  keys.  He  looked  at  the  man  and  tried  to 
classify  him,  but  beyond  recognising  that  his 
clothes  were  uncared  for,  his  manner  truculent, 
and  his  expression  villainous,  he  did  not  get  far. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  said. 

"Are  you  coming  or  are  you  not?"  said  the 
man,  with  a  stealthy  glance  at  the  front  of  the 
house,  which  was  now  in  sight. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 
"It  isn't  keys,  is  it?" 

"Keys  it  is,  s'welp  me,"  said  the  man. 
.  "Why  can't  you  bring  'em  here?"     said   Mr. 
Gammage. 

"I've  got  something  to  say,"  the  man  assured 
him  earnestly. 

So  they  turned  together  down  the  overgrown 
path  that  led  to  the  farther  end  of  the  long  gar- 
den and  the  motor  house. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

COLONEL  and  Mrs.  Blois  had  arrived  and  were 
sitting  with  Mrs.  Loraine  in  the  drawing-room. 
When  they  were  told  of  Colonel  Loraine 's  illness, 
they  both  said  that  Mrs.  Loraine  ought  to  have  put 
them  all  off  and  sent  Pamela  back  to  Greymarsh. 
But  Mrs.  Loraine  assured  them  that  her  husband 
was  better  to-night,  and  would  be  better  still  to- 
morrow, and  that  it  would  do  him  all  the  good  in 
the  world  to  see  Anthony.  She  told  them  how 
Dobbs  had  upset  him,  and  with  some  difficulty 
made  Mrs.  Blois  understand  who  Dobbs  was,  and 
she  explained  that  their  present  chauffeur  was  not 
"reclaimed"  from  any  bad  habits,  and  that  he 
was,  in  fact,  a  most  successful  experiment  of  her 
own.  She  asked  a  few  questions  about  the  Aus- 
tralian, and  said  that  she  had  unfortunately  been 
upstairs  when  he  arrived  and  that  she  had  not  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  yet.  She  observed  that 
directly  she  introduced  this  topic  Colonel  Blois 
grew  rather  fidgety  and  silent,  as  if  it  was  a  diffi- 
cult topic  to  deal  with ;  while  Mrs.  Blois,  on  the 

364 


THE   KINSMAN  365 

contrary,  was  quite  ready  to  talk  of  the  young 
man,  and  in  her  ambiguous,  disjointed  way  to 
disparage  him. 

"Poor  Pamela!"  she  said  with  a  sigh.  "How 
she  will  have  hated  a  long  drive  with  him !  I 
have  missed  her  dreadfully,  because  she  did  take 
him  off  my  hands  a  good  deal,  much  as  she  dis- 
liked him.  She  is  such  a  dear  child,  if  you  take 
her  in  the  right  way ;  at  least  she  always  has  been  to 
me,  though  I  am  not  her  mother  and  cannot  expect 
to  have  any  voice  in  her  affairs.  But  I  dare  say 
it  will  all  come  right  somehow.  Things  often  do, 
if  you  leave  them  alone.  At  the  same  time,  I  do 
not  believe  that  Mr.  Blois  at  Greymarsh  as  a  per- 
manent inmate  would  be  really  agreeable  to  you, 
Anthony  — ' 

"Has  anyone  proposed  that  he  should  be  a 
permanent  inmate?"  asked  Colonel  Blois. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  propose  except 
that  he  should  marry  Pamela,"  said  Mrs.  Blois. 
"But  you  can't  suppose  she  would  leave  home  with 
a  young  man  like  that.  If  she  just  stayed  about 
with  us,  she  might  not  notice  him  so  much. 
Besides,  it  seems  fairer." 

"Pamela  says  he  is  impossible,"  said  Mrs. 
Loraine. 


366  THE   KINSMAN 

"That  is  the  word  for  him/'  said  Mrs.  Blois,  de- 
lightedly; "just  what  you  said  yourself ,  Anthony, 
the  night  he  arrived.  He  is  the  kind  of  young  man 
who  makes  you  feel  all  pins  and  needles  when  any- 
one else  is  present  because  he  does  such  odd  things 
-  quite  small  things,  of  course  —  I  always  tell 
Pamela  so  —  but  when  he  appeared  at  our  garden 
party  in  a  frock  coat  and  flannels  —  yes,  I  know, 
Anthony  —  George  is  a  very  stupid  boy  and  a 
trained  valet  —  but  you  can't  valet  an  accent, 
can  you  ?  —  perhaps  a  first-rate  elocutionist  three 
hours  a  day  —  he  would  have  to  come  to  town 
on  purpose  - 

Colonel  Blois  had  marched  to  the  other  end  of 
the  long  room.  His  wife's  babble  provoked  him, 
but  he  never  lost  his  temper  with  her  as  he  did  a 
dozen  times  a  day  with  Pamela.  He  walked  up 
and  down  without  answering  her  remarks,  and  had 
arrived  at  the  window  where  the  ladies  were  sitting 
when  they  heard  a  carriage  stop  at  the  front  door. 
A  moment  later  Pamela  and  Roger  entered  the 
room,  and  Mrs.  Loraine  hardly  knew  what  sur- 
prised her  most,  to  see  her  niece  accompanied  by 
her  chauffeur,  or  to  find  that  Colonel  Blois  and 
his  wife  seemed  to  recognise  him.  Before  she  had 
time  to  speak,  while  she  was  still  staring  at  his 


THE  KINSMAN  367 

frock  coat  and  silk  hat,  Pamela  actually  led  him 
up  to  her  as  if  he  was  a  stranger. 

"Mr.  Blois,  Aunt  Irene,"  she  said. 

"My  dear  Pamela,"  gasped  Mrs.  Loraine. 

Meanwhile,  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Blois  were  eyeing 
Roger  as  if  they  discovered  some  odd,  agreeable 
change  in  him,  and  also  eyeing  Pamela  as  if  her 
radiant  face  amazed  them.  She  had  turned  now 
to  her  stepmother  and  kissed  her  affectionately. 
Then,  a  little  shamefacedly,  she  approached  her 
father.  He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  in  his  a 
moment,  and  in  this  way  he  made  his  apology. 
Then  he  kissed  her.  The  next  moment  she  had 
tucked  her  hand  in  his  arm  and  marched  him  to 
a  corner  of  the  room  where  they  were  out  of  hear- 
ing, and,  with  the  help  of  a  screen,  nearly  out  of 
sight.  They  sat  down  together,  and  she  whis- 
pered in  his  ear. 

"I'm  going  to  marry  Mr.  Blois,  Dad,"  she  said. 

Colonel  Blois  looked  at  the  girl  in  stupefaction. 

"Rather  sudden,"  he  said. 

"Ever  since  Friday,"  said  Pamela.  "Plenty  of 
time  to  make  up  your  mind." 

"You  are  sure  you  have  made  up  your  mind?" 

Pamela  nodded,  turned  red,  and  put  her  hand 
coaxingly  on  her  father's  arm. 


368  THE   KINSMAN 

"Come  and  talk  to  him,"  she  said. 

"In  a  minute,"  said  Colonel  Blois,  with  a  pro- 
found sigh.  He  did  not  look  at  all  overjoyed. 
"I'm  afraid  you're  doing  this  to  please  me,  my 
child." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  Dad,"  said  Pamela,  cheerfully. 
"I  adore  him." 

"You  — what?"  shouted  the  Colonel. 

"Sh!"  said  Pamela,  putting  her  finger  to  her 
lips.  "You  don't  know  everything  yet,  Dad." 

The  Colonel  got  up  with  a  gloomy  air  and  accom- 
panied his  daughter  to  the  other  end  of  the  room ; 
but  before  they  reached  the  others  everyone  was 
alarmed  and  scattered  by  the  eruption  into  the 
room  of  the  parlour-maid,  white  and  stammering 
with  fright.  She  could  hardly  speak,  but  the  two 
men  understood  that  she  had  come  for  help,  and 
instantly  followed  where  she  led.  Mrs.  Loraine 
and  Pamela  ran  after  them,  and  arrived  at  the 
motor  house  in  time  to  hear  sounds  of  a  scuffle 
within,  loud  cries  for  help,  and  broken  curses. 
The  men  rushed  inside,  the  women  waited,  and 
a  moment  later  Colonel  Blois  appeared,  supporting 
a  figure  so  dusty,  torn,  and  dishevelled  that  the 
ladies  looked  away  for  very  shame.  Just  behind 
came  Roger  with  a  strong  hand  on  Dobbs.  Every- 


THE  KINSMAN  369 

one  walked  back  to  the  house,  the  men  too  much 
occupied  to  speak,  the  women  too  much  alarmed. 
When  the  little  procession  arrived  inside  the  hall, 
Colonel  Blois  opened  the  door  of  the  smoking 
room  and  led  his  man  there.  The  ladies  he  waved 
back  to  the  drawing-room.  Roger  followed  him, 
with  Dobbs  still  in  tow.  He  turned  to  shut  the 
door,  and  so  for  a  moment  Mr.  Gammage  did  not 
see  his  face.  But,  indeed,  poor  Mr.  Gammage 
was  in  no  condition  to  see  yet.  He  was  badly 
shaken  and  nearly  blind  with  dust  and  fright. 
When  the  Colonel  and  Roger  went  into  the  motor 
house  they  found  him  lying  face  downwards,  while 
Dobbs  showered  blows  on  his  writhing  body.  In 
the  confusion  and  acute  humiliation  of  his  rescue 
he  had  seen  no  one,  noticed  nothing.  He  was 
hardly  able  to  speak  yet,  and  as  he  tried  to  do  so 
he  felt  the  aching  bones  of  his  body  to  see  if  they 
were  broken,  he  mopped  at  his  face  and  his  neck 
with  his  handkerchief,  and  he  ruefully  looked  at 
his  new  coat  that  was  stained  and  torn  beyond 
repair. 

"He  asked  me  to  go  to  the  motor  house  and  get 
some  keys  I'd  lost,"  he  said  to  the  Colonel,  "and 
the  moment  we  got  there  he  squared  up  to  me  and 
said  I'd  taken  the  bread  out  of  his  mouth,  and 

2e 


370  THE   KINSMAN 

when  I  asked  him  what  he  meant  he  let  fly  and 
knocked  me  down.  I've  never  so  much  as  seen 
the  beggar  before,  and  don't  know  anything  about 
his  place.  I  believe  he's  a  prize-fighter  and  mad 
drunk.  But  I'll  have  him  locked  up,  whatever 
comes  of  it." 

"He  took  you  for  me,"  said  Roger,  coming 
forward.  He  had  locked  the  door  and  put  the 
key  in  his  pocket. 

Mr.  Gammage  staggered  to  his  feet,  stared  at 
Roger  with  terror  of  death  in  his  face,  and  fell  in 
a  heap  upon  his  chair  again. 

"You!"  he  gasped. 

"Yes,"  said  Roger.  "Tell  Colonel  Blois  my 
name  and  tell  him  yours." 

"I  thought  you  were  dead,"  cried  Mr.  Gammage, 
looking  at  Roger  over  his  arm,  for  he  had  raised  it 
nervously  as  if  he  expected  a  blow.  "I  swear  I 
thought  you  were  drowned." 

"The  police  will  be  here  directly,"  said  Colonel 
Blois,  watching  the  two  young  men  intently. 
Meanwhile  Dobbs  edged  stealthily  towards  a 
heavy  portiere  and  lifted  it  cautiously.  The  door 
behind  it  stood  slightly  ajar.  He  glanced  swiftly 
at  the  two  men  standing  over  his  late  enemy,  he 
slid  like  a  rat  behind  the  heavy  curtain,  he  cleared 


THE   KINSMAN  371 

the  dinner  table  of  some  of  its  silver  with  a  sweep 
of  his  hand,  and  was  out  of  the  window  and  quietly 
escaping  through  the  back  door  while  a  leisurely 
policeman  tramped  along  the  drive  to  the  front 
of  the  house. 

" Hullo,"  said  Roger,  looking  blankly  round  as 
he  took  the  key  out  of  his  pocket  when  someone 
knocked. 

By  the  time  the  policeman  entered  the  room, 
heard  what  was  wanted,  discovered  the  portiere 
and  the  other  door,  and  pointed  out  the  disorder 
of  the  dinner  table,  Dobbs  had,  of  course,  got  clear 
away;  but  the  policeman  spent  a  happy  evening 
chasing  him.  Meanwhile  Colonel  Blois  and  Roger 
returned  to  Mr.  Gammage.  He  showed  no  fight. 

"What'd  be  the  good  now  you've  turned  up?" 
he  said  sulkily.  "  There's  that  Mrs.  Bradwardine 
knows  you,  and  there's  people  at  Trevalla  knows 
me.  I'm  not  denying  anything.  I'm  Bert  Gam- 
mage  and  you're  Roger  Blois  —  I  suppose." 

"Thank  God  for  that !"  said  Colonel  Blois,  hold- 
ing out  his  hand  to  his  heir. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do?"  said  Roger,  glanc- 
ing at  the  beaten,  abject  figure  in  the  easy-chair. 

"I  thought  you  were  dead  and  that  it  didn't 
matter,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  repeating  his  defence. 


372  THE  KINSMAN 

"Didn't  matter!"  cried  the  Colonel;  "to  lie  and 
steal  and  defraud  us  all  —  to  try  to  marry  my 
daughter  under  a  false  name,  you  wretched 
scoundrel !" 

"I  thought  he  was  dead/'  reiterated  Mr.  Gam- 
mage.  "For  all  I  knew  I  was  his  heir.  He  told 
me  he  wasn't  married  and  had  no  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  I've  Blois  blood  in  me  as  good  as  you, 
Colonel." 

"What's  he  mean?"  said  Colonel  Blois. 

"It's  true,"  said  Roger.  "His  grandfather  and 
mine  were  brothers." 

Their  discussion  was  interrupted  by  one  of  those 
prosaic  trifles  that  will  break  in  at  inconvenient 
times.  The  dressing-gong  sounded  sonorously 
through  the  house.  Colonel  Blois  looked  from 
one  man  to  the  other  and  addressed  Roger. 

"It  is  you  who  are  staying  in  this  house,"  he 
said. 

Mr.  Gammage  gave  vent  to  a  sob.  His  body 
ached,  he  had  only  a  pound  or  two  in  his  pocket, 
his  clothes  were  not  fit  for  public  view.  Also,  he 
wondered  what  had  become  of  the  policeman. 

"Do  you  think  your  friends  at  Barnes  would 
take  you  in?"  Roger  said  to  him. 

"I    dessay,"    said    Mr.    Gammage,    too    much 


THE  KINSMAN  373 

crushed  to  wonder  how  Roger  knew  of  their 
existence. 

"Get  a  cab  and  go  there,  then,"  said  Roger. 
"I'll  see  you  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Gammage  lamely  rose  to  his  feet  and  tried 
again  to  dust  himself  down.  He  felt  in  his  pockets 
and  pulled  out  a  handful  of  money  —  gold  and 
silver  mixed. 

"I'll  walk,"  he  said;  "that  money's  yours.  I 
don't  know  whether  I'll  ever  be  able  to  pay  you 
back  what  I've  spent,  but  I  will  if  I  can  —  if 
you  don't  send  me  to  prison.  I  suppose  you 
could." 

Roger  gathered  the  money  into  his  hands  again 
and  returned  it  to  Mr.  Gammage. 

"I  make  you  a  present  of  it,"  he  said,  "and  don't 
run  away  or  do  anything  stupid  of  that  kind  be- 
tween now  and  to-morrow.  I  don't  owe  you  much, 
but  I  do  owe  something  to  Julia.  She  helped  me 
when  I  was  down." 

"Julia's  at  the  Martins',"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 
"I  saw  her  this  afternoon." 

"She's  a  very  good  girl,"  said  Roger,  "and  she 
thinks  more  of  you  than  you  deserve." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  Martins  were  sitting  at  high  tea  with  Mr. 
Salter  when  there  was  a  knock  at  the  front  door. 
Teddy,  the  youngest  boy,  answered  it  and  returned 
a  moment  later  looking  uncertain  and  excited. 
He  shut  the  dining-room  door  behind  him  and 
addressed  his  mother.  Mr.  Martin  had  not  come 
back  from  the  city  yet. 

" Bert's  in  the  hall,"  he  said.  "He  wants  to 
speak  to  you." 

Julia,  who  was  at  table,  and  who  had  come  back 
full  of  her  recent  encounter  with  Bert,  jumped  up 
in  a  flurry.  Mrs.  Martin  looked  at  Florrie. 

"Seems  he's  just  had  a  scrap,"  whispered  Teddy. 
"His  clothes  are  torn  and  his  cheek  is  bleeding." 

Florrie  looked  at  Mr.  Salter,  beside  whom  she  sat. 

"They've  met,"  she  said  in  an  undertone ;  "per- 
haps the  police  are  after  him." 

"Let's  see,"  said  Mr.  Salter,  getting  up  calmly. 

Neither  Florrie  nor  he  had  said  a  word  to  any- 
one about  their  meeting  with  Roger.  They  had 
agreed  as  they  walked  home  that  for  poor  silly  Bert's 
sake  the  quieter  his  escapade  was  kept  the  better. 

374 


THE    KINSMAN  375 

But  now  the  whole  family  assembled  in  the  lit- 
tle hall,  where  Mr.  Gammage  supported  his  aching 
bones  on  the  only  chair.  Julia  shrieked  when  she 
saw  him. 

" What's  happened  to  Je,  Bert?"  she  cried. 
"Your  coat  be  all  torn  and  dusty.  Oh;  and  your 
poor  face ! " 

She  pulled  out  her  handkerchief,  and  bending 
tenderly  over  him  wiped  the  blood  from  his  fore- 
head with  it. 

"Have  you  had  an  accident?"  said  Mrs.  Martin, 
wishing  her  husband  was  at  home,  but  reflecting 
thankfully  that  Florrie  was  equally  capable  of 
deciding  what  it  was  best  to  do. 

"Yes,  I  have,"  groaned  Mr.  Gammage.  "I  be- 
lieve my  back's  broken." 

"Run  for  the  doctor,  Teddy,"  said  Mrs.  Martin. 

"Can  he  get  me  a  bed  somewhere?"  said 
Mr.  Gammage.  "That's  what  I  feel  like, 
and  I'm  not  equal  to  running  about  'unting 
for  one." 

" But  where  have  you  sprung  from?"  said  Mrs. 
Martin.  "Where  have  you  been  staying  since 
you  left  Trevalla?  Julia  says  — 

"I've  been  in  the  country,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 
"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  to-morrer." 


376  THE   KINSMAN 

Mr.  Salter  now  took  Bert  by  the  arm  and  led 
him  into  an  adjoining  room. 

"Look  here,  old  chap,"  he  said,  "pull  yourself 
together.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  are  you  safe 
here,  or  are  they  after  you?" 

"No  one's  after  me,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  rather 
sullenly.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"We  know,"  said  Mr.  Salter,  impressively. 
"Florrie  and  I  have  seen  him  —  on  Wimbledon 
Common." 

"Him!    Who?" 

"Mr.  Blois  —  the  real  Mr.  Blois.  He  told  us  all 
about  it." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

Mr.  Salter  stroked  his  moustache  reflectively. 
"He  said  some  nasty  things,"  he  admitted. 
"That's  why  I  asked  if  they  were  after  you." 

"Well,  they're  not,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  trying 
to  carry  the  matter  off  with  a  high  air.  "In  fact, 
Mr.  Roger  Blois  is  coming  here  to-morrow  to  see 
me  and  Julia." 

"That's  funny,"  said  Mr.  Salter.  "Did  he  tear 
your  coat?" 

"No,  he  didn't  .  .  .  never  touched  me  .  .  . 
too  much  the  gentleman." 

"That  I  don't  believe,"  said  Mr.  Salter.     "If 


THE   KINSMAN  377 

ever  one  man  was  burning  to  go  for  another  .  .  . 
who  did  go  for  you,  then  ?  Anyone  else  owe  you 
a  grudge?" 

"Not  now/'  said  Mr.  Gammage,  "he's  paid  it 
...  at  least,  he  was  after  the  other  chap  and 
found  me.  See?" 

"  Not  altogether.  Why  is  Mr.  Blois  coming  to 
see  Julia?" 

"He  owes  her  a  turn,  he  says." 

Mr.  Salter  looked  long  and  pensively  at  his 
friend.  Then  he  whistled. 

"I  always  said  you  were  a  lucky  beggar,"  he 
observed. 

"I  feel  damned  lucky,"  said  Mr.  Gammage. 

"Tell  you  what,  if  Mrs.  Martin  has  no  objection 
I'll  lend  you  my  room  for  a  week.  Bob's  away  on 
his  holiday,  so  I  can  sleep  with  Teddy.  Of  course, 
I  consider  the  arrangement  a  temporary  one." 

"You're  a  good  chap,  Salter,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage. "I  haven't  met  a  better,  though  I  have 
been  living  as  a  visitor  in  marble  halls." 

Mrs.  Martin  raised  no  objection  to  Mr.  Salter's 
proposal.  Indeed,  she  seemed  rather  pleased  to 
see  Mr.  Gammage  again.  She  believed,  of  course, 
what  Julia  told  her,  that  he  had  been  at  Trevalla 
until  a  week  ago,  and  that  he  had  been  seriously 


378  THE  KINSMAN 

ill  there.  She  felt  some  natural  curiosity  about  his 
further  adventures,  and  especially  about  his  acci- 
dent, but  it  was  plain  to  both  women  that  they 
could  not  question  him  to-night.  In  fact,  when 
he  had  swallowed  a  cup  of  tea  he  was  glad  to  go  to 
bed.  The  doctor  arrived  later  and  found  that  no 
bones  were  broken.  He  talked  of  a  shock  to  the 
system  —  the  necessity  of  perfect  quiet ;  but 
next  day  Mr.  Gammage  managed  to  crawl  down- 
stairs in  the  course  of  the  morning,  and,  finding 
Julia  alone,  he  at  once  renewed  his  courtship  of 
her.  Her  delighted  response  was  most  consoling, 
and  he  had  no  doubt  at  the  end  of  an  hour  that  of 
the  three  girls  he  had  lately  wooed  she  suited  him 
best.  She  adored  him,  she  asked  for  nothing 
better  than  his  affection  and  fidelity.  He  felt 
that  he  could  gratefully  give  her  both,  and  they 
agreed  that  they  would  marry  as  soon  as  Mr. 
Gammage  could  support  a  home. 

"It  won't  be  much  of  a  home,"  said  Mr.  Gam- 
mage, his  memory  harking  back  to  Greymarsh. 

"But  you  said  yesterday  you  were  getting  on  so 
well,"  said  Julia.  "Some  day,  maybe,  we'll  live 
in  this  terrace  and  be  so  grand  as  uncle  and  aunt 
be  now." 

Mr.  Gammage  let  Julia  chatter  on  —  made  no 


THE  KINSMAN  379 

attempt  to  undeceive  her.  He  waited  in  much  sus- 
pense for  Roger's  arrival,  and  hoped  that  the  girl 
beside  him  would  help  to  turn  his  kinsman's  wrath. 
He  turned  white  with  apprehension  when  he  heard 
the  sounds  of  arrival  in  the  hall,  and  he  staggered 
weakly  to  his  feet  as  Roger  entered  the  room. 
Julia  jumped  up  too,  staring  from  one  man  to  the 
other,  her  eyes  round,  her  mouth  open  with  sur- 
prise; but  Roger  went  straight  up  to  her  and 
took  her  hands  in  his. 

"I  got  away  beautifully  in  a  motor-car,"  he  said. 
"But  you  know  all  about  that,  I  suppose;  at 
least,  you  must  have  guessed  when  they  brought 
the  wrong  man  back.  There  was  more  than  three 
pounds  in  the  pig,  Julia.  I've  kept  all  the  pieces, 
and  I'm  going  to  have  them  put  together,  and  it 
shall  stand  in  my  house  in  memory  of  you." 

The  girl  looked  up  at  his  face,  as  she  had  some- 
times done  at  Trevalla,  confused  both  by  his  like- 
ness to  her  lover  and  by  his  unfamiliar  voice  and 
manner. 

"Then  you're  not  Bert?"  she  said  at  last.  "'E 
told  a  true  tale,  but  I  thought  for  sure  'e  were 
Bert." 

She  blushed  and  hung  her  head.  Then  a  new 
idea  drove  her  embarrassing  memories  from  her 


380  THE  KINSMAN 

mind,  and  she  looked  inquiringly  at  Mr. 
Gammage. 

"Did  'e  take  this  gentleman's  clothes  and 
money?"  she  asked. 

"I  thought  he  was  drowned.  I  meant  no  harm 
to  anyone/'  said  Mr.  Gammage,  shuffling  uncom- 
fortably from  one  foot  to  another. 

"Well,  I  never!"  said  Julia. 

"Are  you  going  to  forgive  him?"  said  Roger. 

"We're  going  to  be  married  as  soon  as  we  can," 
said  Julia,  simply.  "We've  just  fixed  it  up.  You 
don't  bear  him  a  grudge,  sir,  do  'e?  He  meant 
no  harm,  he  says." 

Roger  turned  to  Mr.  Gammage.  "I  want  a  few 
words  with  you,"  he  said ; "  is  there  another  room  ?  " 

"I'll  go,"  said  Julia,  obligingly. 

"You  really  mean  to  marry  this  girl?"  said 
Roger,  when  she  had  disappeared. 

"Depends  on  you,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  gloom- 
ily. "Don't  suppose  she'll  want  a  convict." 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  for  a  living?" 

"Same  as  before,  if  I  can  get  a  job.  All  I'm 
good  for." 

"Would  you  like  to  go  out  to  Australia?" 

"I  should  'ate  it,"  said  Mr.  Gammage,  ingenu- 
ously. "My  'eart's  in  Putney." 


THE  KINSMAN  381 

Roger  then  gave  Mr.  Angelo's  message  and 
found  to  his  surprise  that  his  kinsman  jumped 
at  it. 

"Mr.  Eisenstein  employs  a  lot  of  travellers,"  he 
said.  "  Perhaps  if  I  lay  myself  out  to  please  him 
he'd  give  me  a  chance.  Often  and  often,  when 
I've  seen  one  of  those  broughams  full  of  cardboard 
boxes,  I've  said  to  myself,  'That's  what  I'd  like  to 
be.'" 

"Very  well,"  said  Roger,  after  he  had  said  what 
he  considered  it  necessary  to  say  about  Mr.  Gam- 
mage's  unscrupulous  appropriation  of  another 
man's  name  and  property.  "You  must  know  as 
well  as  I  do  that  to  rise  in  a  business  like  that 
you've  got  to  work  hard  and  keep  honest.  Dis- 
honest men  make  money  .  .  .  lots  of  them  .  .  . 
but  they're  a  different  grain  from  you.  You 
lay  yourself  out  to  please  Mr.  Eisenstein  and  be- 
have well  to  Julia,  and  you  won't  hear  anything 
more  from  me.  You  can  thank  Julia  .  .  . 
not  me." 

Mr.  Gammage  felt  too  much  dazed  by  this  sud- 
den removal  of  his  worst  fears  to  answer  very 
coherently  or  to  observe  at  the  moment  that  his 
kinsman  did  not  offer  him  his  hand  as  he  departed. 
He  had  just  remembered  it  with  shame  when  Julia 


382  THE   KINSMAN 

came  back  into  the  room,  too  radiant  and  eager 
to  notice  her  lover's  downcast  face. 

"Bert,"  she  cried,  " darling  Bert  .  .  .  we're 
to  be  married  as  soon  as  we  like  .  .  .  down  to 
Trevalla,  of  course  .  .  .  and  he  and  his  young 
lady  will  come  there  on  their  wedding  jaunt." 

" Didn't  know  he  had  a  young  lady,"  said  Mr. 
Gammage. 

"He  has  just  told  me  all  about  her.  He  hadn't 
one  when  he  left  Trevalla  a  week  ago.  It  do  seem 
quick  work,  to  be  sure  .  .  .  but  then,  look  at 
you  and  me.  Her  name  is  the  same  as  his, 
he  tells  me  .  .  .  Blois  .  .  .  Miss  Pamela  Blois 
.  .  .  and  she  lives  down  to  Greymarsh." 

"Fm  blessed!"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "Why, 
she's  only  known  him  since  Friday,  and  she 
wouldn't  look  — 

He  checked  himself  suddenly  and  changed  the 
subject  before  Julia  could  ask  inconvenient  ques- 
tions. 

"Very  kind  of  him  to  give  us  permission  to 
marry  at  once,"  he  said.  "But  what  have  we 
got  to  marry  on  ?  Nothing  at  all,  my  girl,  but 
'opes,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

"That's  what  you  think,"  said  Julia,  delightedly. 
"It's  all  along  of  my  pig  I  gave  him,  He  can't 


THE  KINSMAN  383 

forget,  he  says,  as  I  trusted  him  with  all  the  money 
I  had.  Of  course,  I  thought  he  was  you.  I 
wouldn't  have  trusted  a  stranger.  But  he's  rich, 
and  he's  going  to  furnish  a  house  for  me,  and  give 
me  a  hundred  a  year  .  .  .  settle  it,  he  said  .  .  . 
a  hundred  a  year,  Bert  .  .  .  now,  are  you 
going  to  say  we  can't  be  married?  Me,  with 
a  hundred  a  year,  and  you  getting  on  so 
well?" 

"  Furnish  a  house  and  give  you  a  hundred  a 
year !  And  me  with  Eisenstein  and  Co.  Well, 
really,  Julia,  if  your  fancy  isn't  running  away  with 
you,  I  think  we  might  .  .  .  when  I've  made  sure 
of  my  job,  of  course." 

"Be  you  going  to  take  a  new  job?  Mind  you 
say  you  want  a  holiday  in  August,  then.  We'll 
be  married  in  August,  when  Mr.  Blois  and  his  lady 
come  to  Rockmouth.  He  wants  to  show  her 
Rockmouth,  he  says,  and  Coffin  Bay,  and  our 
window  where  he  jumped  out,  and  the  moor  where 
he  found  the  motor.  What  have  you  got  to  show 
me,  Bert  ?  Where  have  you  been  all  this  time  ? 
Can  we  go  there  on  our  wedding  jaunt?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  said  Mr.  Gammage.  "It's 
a  long  way  off.  Besides,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
never  want  to  see  the  place  again." 


384  THE  KINSMAN 

" Weren't  you  happy  there?" 
"Not  exactly." 

"Was  it  because  you  missed  me?" 
"I  dessay/'  said  Mr.  Gammage. 
Julia  kissed  him. 


A    000  040  749     4 


